CHAPTER TWO
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“It’s time. You need to bring the team into the fold. They’ll all understand.”
Townes didn’t bother to take his gaze off the glass door that would reveal a woman he hadn’t seen in years. He wondered if he truly had himself fooled in that he could look away if he wanted. He tried to convince himself that the larger part of his inner self wished this moment had never arrived. The smallest piece remaining of his soul was desperate to quench his thirst, like a man in the desert drawn to the mirage of an oasis. He’d come to realize over the years that a woman held a lot of power over a man’s desires—his drive to be loved by her.
“And what exactly will they all understand, Sawyer?”
Townes flicked his gaze to the standard Federal Bureau of Prisons-made clock with its black and white dial and brown outer case that every military and federal field office seemed to have hanging on their walls. The seconds were ticking by too slowly for his liking. He loosened his tie while remaining near the large windowpane of the conference room, grateful that this location gave him a better vantage point for her arrival—the one alternative he had tried to avoid with his every action during this case up till now.
“You did what you had to do. It’s something that each of us would have done given the same circumstances,” Sawyer stated, rubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion. “At this point, I don’t believe any experienced investigator would criticize the choices you made back then.”
“I planted evidence on a man so that he would be convicted of murder.”
“You served justice.”
“I played God, and now the bill has come due.” Townes wasn’t a man to sugarcoat matters, especially ones of this type of significance. He also wasn’t one to make excuses. “I have to live with the choices I made. No one else needs to carry the burden for my actions, except the one animal who was convicted.”
“And what if the time comes when your men—one of those experienced investigators—makes a choice similar to the one you faced all those years ago? What then?”
“They’ll do the jobs I hired them to do, Sawyer.”
Townes had rendered a personal choice that only a few men were ever in the position to make, though that list was about to expand. He would share his burden with this team, each of them having to swallow their share of the lie that had driven this particular serial killer. The time had come when it was no longer feasible to keep them in the dark. His motive was important for them to understand, though. He only harbored one regret for his sin—that he hadn’t killed Shepherd Moss at that moment in time when he’d had the chance.
If he’d only applied four and a half pounds of pressure on that trigger so many years ago. Numerous people would still be alive and breathing had he acted, not to mention the most recent female victim of Moss’ telltale methods. The agent he’d hired to cover for Coen hadn’t deserved the fate she’d been delivered.
“Please connect Brody in on this meeting via secure satellite video conference.” Townes couldn’t wait all night for that glass door to open. It was time to get started. “It shouldn’t be long before Deputy U.S. Marshal Sturridge arrives with Ms. Doyle, and I want everyone in place. I’d like to go over our itinerary one more time by the numbers.”
Townes stepped away from the large windowpane. The shift in movement allowed him to catch the reflections of his team. They were all gathered around the conference room table, gearing up for a protection detail unlike any they’d ever participated in during the course of their careers. Each of them had completed dozens of VIP security details in their time, but none of them had been for a more deserving and innocent individual. He’d hired each and every one of these men based on a specific skillset, a measure of integrity beyond reproach, and sense of moral certainty in right and wrong.
Keane Sanderson, Royce Haverton, Brody Novak, Coen Flynn, and Sawyer Madison rounded out what was known as SSI—Safeguard Securities and Investigations. Townes owned and operated the agency, which provided contracted services to various law enforcement agencies when needed. The FBI and the U.S. Marshals Service were also included on that list, though this particular case was personal. It was a case he’d been involved with from the very beginning.
“Agent Gordon, would you please give me a moment alone with my team?”
Townes waited patiently for the FBI Senior Agent in Charge (SAIC) to comply with his request. It couldn’t be easy for the man to have an outside agency pick apart his investigation and then find himself on the outside looking in. It most likely sucked as much as having to admit one’s mistakes, but this wasn’t a handholding moment to ease the ego of a veteran agent on the verge of retirement. He also shouldn’t bear witness to what Townes was about to profess. Gordon would be bound by his oath to report his discovery to the courts.
“I guess I’ll go and grab me another cup of crappy coffee then.”
Agent Gordon didn’t need to express his frustration. It was written all over his face as he grabbed his Best Dad ceramic mug off the pile of papers he had stacked in front of them on the conference table. The rest of his words were mumbled as the door closed behind him. Townes flipped a switch, which caused the glass walls to turn opaque and engage electronic countermeasures to defeat listening devices that weren’t keyed to this type of jamming.
“I have a private plane waiting for you at Portland International Jetport,” Brody stated, his clear image appearing on the large television attached to the far wall. His voice sounded somewhat digitized. The bright colors of his Hawaiian shirt were more than perceptible, but Townes hadn’t employed him for his sense of style. The video feed to SSI’s headquarters back in Florida was the only satellite location listening in on their conversation. This man had been able to make that happen without fear of exception. “The flight log will list Chicago O’Hare as your final destination. It will remain that way in writing. Your tail numbers and IFF squawk will change electronically to reflect that you are a C130 out of Great Lakes for the rest of the flight. No one will be able to determine your flight path other than the system once the tower clears you for takeoff. We have our own people at O’Hare to ensure that scenario happens without a hitch.”
Townes didn’t want to know the ins and outs of Brody’s successes when it came to technology. He’d been hired for that reason, and he was excellent at his job.
“Good.” Townes took his place at the head of the table. These men relied on him to give them the vital intelligence that could very well save their lives, and he’d been omitting a rather telling piece of information critical to any investigation. These specific details went to the perp’s motives. “I want to cover some background about the time I spent with Ms. Doyle before Shepherd Moss entered the picture.”
Townes took a moment to visually acknowledge every man sitting at the table in front of him. He respected each and every one, and it was obvious they returned the sentiment. Unfortunately, they would have every right to regard him differently after his forthcoming confession.
He stood by his actions, but he still braced himself for the recriminations from his team.
“We all served in the Corps. We know the toll that combat tours take on our bodies, as well as our inner selves. During those rather introspective times, I took my solace in motorcycles. I would mentally build one from the ground up and plan routes that I would take during my upcoming leave. I couldn’t wait to enjoy the freedom of the open road.”
Townes still owned the custom painted silver 2002 VRSC Harley Davidson he’d purchased the same day his boots hit United States’ soil. That collection of metal had been his salvation—his steel and leather steed on which he could escape. It was still his desired method of getaway from the heavy weight of responsibilities he carried on his shoulders. He blamed this case and Shepherd Moss specifically for not having ridden for enjoyment in months. That needed to change soon.
“Anyway, I got involved with the one percenters due to an old friend having some issues he needed help in resolving. I came away from that time with loyal friendships, as well as underground connections that I have used when the need arose. These men don’t play by the same rules, but there are times that rules need to be bent in order to see that justice is served.”
Townes took a moment to share a look with Coen. His close combat specialist had very high morals when it came to right and wrong. It was one of the reasons he was on this team. Would that change once all the facts were on the table?
“A long story short, one of the members owed a rather prominent surgeon a favor for his assistance in not reporting a gunshot wound or two.” Townes didn’t have to explain who that doctor was by name, because recognition had dawned in each of their expressions. He would still tell his story so that no detail was left unstated. “Dr. Carter Doyle called in that favor by asking for personal protection for his only daughter who lived in the same area. You see, three of Shepherd Moss’ victims had been found in the span of three months. All the women were from that same geographical area, though it was later when his predilections became known that the location had been nothing but a coincidence based on where Moss was residing at the time. Agent Gordon shared with the news outlets the only thing linking the victims from that region.”
“They were all brunettes,” Keane offered up, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tension that no doubt had been there since SSI had taken this case. “And even that was a stretch, considering that Shailyn Doyle is actually a redhead. She’d darkened her hair back then. Age, race, profession, and anything else that usually tied victims together were missing. Why did Doyle have reason to believe his daughter was in danger? Now that I think about it, the only time that was addressed in the original case file was during the trial.”
“That’s right.” Townes gestured toward the stack papers on the desk that were positioned in front of the now empty seat of Agent Gordon. The man had brought the pertinent case file should he need to reference it during the course of this briefing. “One of the victims had last been seen at a rather ritzy club that catered to the wealthier patrons in the area. Shailyn Doyle was part of that loose group of friends, and her father thought it best to have someone around for protection…especially on weekends. Someone who would blend in but could also create a barrier to someone approaching his daughter without a lot of embarrassing or uncomfortable questions having to be answered.”
“How did you end up with that protection detail?” Coen’s dark gaze was all but burning a hole in the front of Townes’ dress shirt. The man was well aware that something was coming down the pike that would, without a doubt, affect the outcome of this manhunt they were currently involved with. “Were you personally involved with Shailyn Doyle at the time of her abduction?”
Townes allowed one corner of his lips to lift in admiration. No one had come right out and asked that direct question, though he understood that suspicion was shared widely among this team. He also didn’t miss the fact Keane was studying the Armani suit jacket Townes was shrugging out of in his attempt at becoming somewhat more comfortable. That was a hard feat considering he was more at ease in a pair of faded jeans and a worn t-shirt.
He was a simple man at his core. Privacy was something he appreciated in all matters. He figured he had given enough of his mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing to serve the greater good that he could allow himself the luxury of enjoying a few of the finer things in life without scrutiny. He didn’t overindulge in his outlaw lifestyle, not by any stretch of the imagination.
“I wasn’t at the time I was asked to take the protective detail, but I was prior to her abduction.” Townes trusted his response answered Coen’s inquiry without giving too much information that would be disrespectful to Shailyn. Their connection had never been brought up in court as anything other than that of a business relationship. “Ms. Doyle was playing in Shepherd Moss’ sandbox. Her father was right in assuming that she would most likely become a target sooner rather than later. Moss managed to get her out of the club that night without anyone the wiser. Unfortunately, that included me.”
Townes didn’t need to finish the rest of the story. Each and every one of them had read over the case file multiple times.
Shailyn Doyle had gone to the club one Friday night with a group of friends, unknowingly catching Moss’ attention. She’d been a brunette back then, having dyed her hair to hide the beautiful shade of auburn she’d been born with. It was another fact that could have made all the difference had it been known publicly. It wasn’t a surprise for Townes to see her during the first day of the trial with her natural color brought back to life. Unfortunately, the sparkle in her green eyes had long ago disappeared…along with her innocence.
“Moss held Ms. Doyle for three days before I tracked down his macabre workshop.”
There was no other way to describe the abandoned warehouse where Moss had taken each of his victims, unless one referred to it as a death chamber. Townes had spent three days and two sleepless night combing through video footage of the club and each patron’s movements. He sought out each man who’d entered the front doors of the establishment the night that Shailyn had been taken, discounting them one by one…until only one guilty individual remained.
The means and methods of Townes’ search had never been recounted by law enforcement officials during the trial, nor by the men who’d suffered under his hands when he’d questioned them. His detailed description of what would happen to them should they talk had virtually guaranteed their silence. To this day, he never doubted their continued discretion.
“Calvert?”
Townes involuntarily made a fist at Sawyer’s attempt to grab his attention, assuming Deputy U.S. Marshal Sturridge had arrived with his charge. A quick glance at the monitor revealed there were only two individuals standing on the other side of the now white windowpane, and neither one of them were the woman he sought.
How long had he been lost in thought?
“I was the one who located Moss’ workshop, along with Shailyn Doyle who was just barely hanging on to life.” Townes didn’t bother to describe the scene. It was incomprehensible, the damage done to her body. Coen had caught a glimpse of Moss’ handiwork a few days ago in Colorado. It was beyond vile, and what true evil represented in its most basic form. “You’re aware from the case file that Moss was not at the scene at the time I arrived.”
“Yes,” Keane replied, lifting the folder that contained photographs of the crime scene. He’d been looking over the pictures for the hundredth time in hopes of something appearing that would lead them to Moss. “Traces of Ms. Doyle’s blood was found in Moss’ vehicle, as well as his bathroom sink and shower drains.”
Coen abruptly pushed back his chair and leaned forward, rubbing his hands down his face in what was most likely frustration, if not outright denial. His unexpected movement grabbed everyone’s attention. It wasn’t long before the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. He steeled himself for the allegation that was yet to come.
“Son of a bitch,” Brody murmured, his voice barely perceptible from the speaker.
Agent Gordon chose that moment to try and enter the conference room by knocking, but Townes held up a finger to pause his entrance. He could wait a moment longer. What Townes had to say was for his team only, and what they did with the information was up to them. He’d already paid the price for his sin ten times over by punishing himself.
“I won’t verbally confirm what you already suspect, only due to our location.” Townes wasn’t about to confess to planting evidence in Moss’ vehicle or place of residence in a federal office building. No one else had yet to comment. He wasn’t sure they would, considering the fallout of what could come from something of that nature. “You should know that I had no doubt of that man’s guilt and acted without fear of recrimination.”
“We have your six, Calvert. No need to rehash this now.” Royce looked over the table at Keane, who was nodding his agreement.
“According to the trial transcripts and subsequent juror interviews, it was Shailyn Doyle’s testimony that put Shepherd Moss behind bars,” Keane surmised, most likely already figuring out the reason for Townes’ decision. It had taken over five days before the medical staff changed Shailyn’s condition from critical to serious. All Townes had done was take out insurance, but not everyone would agree with that stance. “That’s all I need to know.”
“We’re all good,” Brody offered up, leaning closer to the camera.
Sawyer held up his Styrofoam coffee cup to signify that he was pleased with the way this meeting had gone. All eyes were now on Coen, who was the more serious of the group and took his responsibilities with the evidential chain of custody a little too far at times. He was the balance to Brody, who needed to be reined in more often than not. There was no better chemistry than this unit.
“What we saw in Colorado…” Coen’s words drifted off as he shook his head to dispel the gruesome visions that still haunted them both. Townes had witnessed the vile destruction left behind by Moss twice, and that was two times too many. Evil like that could never be contained by simple walls and gates. He should have known better, and clearly Coen agreed. “You were far too kind, Calvert.”
The gentlest of movement called Townes’ attention to the monitor displaying the people waiting outside the conference room. He wasn’t a man to be affected by a lot of things, but the beautiful vision before him was the exception.
Shailyn’s green eyes met his through the video feed, and he couldn’t stop his hand from flipping the switch and unlocking the now transparent windowpane. Their gazes connected until everything else faded away. She made it hard from him to breathe. The guilt he’d tried to ease through the years came back with a physical rush. It had been so long since he’d seen her that the smallest of changes were perceived by his discerning eye.
Her striking auburn tresses were longer, laying over her shoulders in waves as if she hadn’t bothered to have her hair trimmed in months. The cream colored, long dress coat tied at the waist told him that she’d lost too much weight. Her porcelain skin hadn’t seen the sun in what looked like months, though her cheeks had instantly flushed in reaction to setting eyes on him for the first since her trial. It didn’t surprise him that the sparkle in those emerald green eyes of hers was still less than they had once held.
The need to see her smile return caught him off guard, but it was when she turned her back on him that the piercing culpability practically cut him in two. It had been his sole responsibility to protect her…and he’d failed.
“Sawyer, please collect Ms. Doyle.” Townes shut down every single emotion running through his body as he reached for his suit jacket. He’d known where he stood with her long ago, so her response to his sudden presence shouldn’t have been a surprise. “We have a lot of ground to cover before we head to Florida. It’s best we get started immediately.”