CHAPTER SIX
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Townes took his time making his version of a steaming cup of black coffee from his personal DeLonghi machine. He combined two shots of expresso with a splash of RO water to the ground Jamaican Blue Mountain beans to the precise desired consistency. The grinds were about the same size as refined white sugar.
He packed the double-shot maker with a practiced hand. The resulting flavor was beyond anything one could find in any world-renowned five-star restaurant. The best part of the process was creating such a delicacy in the privacy of his own office.
It wasn’t that he didn’t drink the coffee from the kitchen every now and then when he was running short on time. Unfortunately, the grinds were coarser for the drip machine and didn’t produce the same flavor he preferred. That type of coffee was strong enough for most natives, but too weak for his tastes.
He carried his idea of perfection, along with the case file he’d been reading over, to his comfortable leather chair in the far corner of his office facing the closed door on the inside wall. The outer walls of the estate buildings were made of heavy thick natural logs that could easily stop a .30 caliber bullet. Even the windows were to be covered in the event of an attack with interlocking steel shutters that rolled down in seconds from encasements anchored to the eaves above.
He’d created all of this for one woman.
Townes carefully set down the mug on the heavy ceramic tray he’d acquired from an antique store. In fact, it was the same small boutique that he’d gotten the early American side table from in his hunt for the right furniture. He then tossed the manila folder on the oak desk in front of him.
The appraiser had tracked the lineage of the 1700s English-style desk to Revolutionary War-era New Jersey. A man outside of Trenton who went by the name of Everton claimed to be quite the Tory, but he was in fact an agent of Washington’s who had tracked English troop movements during the war. The idea of Everton’s letters being written on this very desk helping Washington to time his own movements had tweaked Townes’ sense of intrigue.
He’d purposefully chosen a traditional early American motif for this room as an escape. The rich, earth-tone colors of the wood offered a simple relaxing quality that at times he desperately needed.
This was one of those moments.
He needed to decompress.
Shailyn remained as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. Those emerald green pools of emotion managed to hide the pain and suffering she’d endured during her time with Moss, but nearly failed in the efforts to conceal her constant apprehension. She handily converted her anxiety into contempt, mostly funneled toward him. It was simmering just underneath the surface waiting to vent in some spectacular fashion. He suspected that his scars would multiply during their forthcoming engagements…at least, the psychological ones.
Townes tried to maintain his distance, giving her the time and space she required to digest the proposed plan. It wouldn’t be easy for her to allow her parents and other family members to believe she was dead, but there was no other choice to be had.
He convinced himself it was entirely for their own safety, which wasn’t far from the truth considering Moss’ penchant for attacking from oblique angles. The twisted killer needed to trust that the woman he desperately wanted to have back for his own amusements was no longer alive. He was torn by the need to finish his work. Only then could he move on and eventually make the mistake that would land him back into federal custody. Townes was certain Moss was in search of the quintessential moment where he recognized his path forward. That trail led directly to Shailyn.
As it stood, the next couple of hours would be spent researching the people involved with Caroline Marinovic’s investigation—the moment Moss began his dark journey. It would kill the time needed for Brody to set things in motion for their road trip south to the scene of Marinovic’s demise. The more the pieces of the puzzle settled into place, the closer they came to Moss’ current location.
Townes had devoted the majority of the morning seeing to it that Shailyn was settled into a guest room on the upper level of his home. He’d ordered that the compound be prepositioned at a higher level of readiness. The shutters on all the windows had been lowered, locked into place, and raised again by a few inches for gaps to allow light to shine through between the slats.
The weight of the security shutters would take only a second to close to a solid protective wall should the need arise. The system would automatically do so every evening at sundown.
Pickets were established between buildings. Townes had hired additional security personnel to pad the rolls of those available to walk post. No electronic device could ever replace a sentry in Townes’ mind. Anything electronic could be spoofed. Brody had made that abundantly clear.
Shailyn was adapting to her new environment. She didn’t have a lot of luggage, and he was honestly surprised when she’d mentioned that the two bags were everything she owned. Brody had gone over her laptop and electronic devices to ensure there wasn’t any possibility of a breach while providing her access to their network.
Townes didn’t like that Shailyn had taken to being such a minimalist. Having a new life in WITSEC meant she should have been able to start over with a new identity and existence. People tended to collect items that were needed in their daily lives. She had little to show for the life she’d led since her testimony and inception into the nether world of witness protection.
Remnants of anger stirred inside of him. Shailyn hadn’t taken advantage of what the witness protection program had to offer.
She hadn’t started anew.
He’d imagined her teaching at some community college, shopping with friends, and enjoying the anonymity and freedom Moss had taken from her as Shailyn Doyle. Instead, she’d chosen to hide herself away from everything and everyone, forsaking life in favor of her own personal refuge away from society.
Had he made a mistake in allowing the U.S. Marshals Service leeway in creating Shailyn a new identity? Should he have personally gotten involved and attended to the details himself? It would have allowed him the ability to make sure that she didn’t retreat into a hole where she would suffer alone. He could have easily pulled some favors in creating her a new life, maybe even over in England or France.
“Got a minute?”
Townes wasn’t surprised to find Coen at the entrance of his office. He’d purposefully left the door open in case Shailyn needed anything, but to also signify that he was available for conversations with his team. He’d delivered a rather stunning blow earlier, and there was no doubt they would want to discuss his breach of proper justice in more detail.
“Yes.” Townes took a seat in the plush leather seat on wheels, indicating Coen should do the same in one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk. “Have Sawyer and Royce been in touch with Brody yet?”
“No, but it’s still early.” Coen held a glass of orange juice in his hand, preferring the acidic drink over the smooth richness of the coffee Townes had imported from Jamaica. Coen had shaved since his assignment up in Colorado, but a five o’clock shadow had formed after their last forty-eight hours in Maine. “I want to do an aerial sweep of the county where Catherine Marinovic’s body was found. I can get a head start if I leave for the airport now.”
Townes pushed back his chair when he realized that Coen hadn’t stopped by to discuss the past sins he’d admitted to earlier. No one seemed to deem his actions relevant to the present case, yet he’d made the disclosure out of necessity in his own mind. He found it odd that they weren’t wondering just how far he would go in the end to see to it that Shailyn had some semblance of a life after this was all said and done. Or did they accept that he would do what was needed? Hell, maybe they would do the same.
“The aerial sweep has already been done. Brody has the full report and video files.” Townes opened the folder that was resting on the ottoman and pulled out the high-resolution images that displayed several distinctive areas where remote cabins were located off the grid. He’d already circled numerous properties that could potentially harbor Moss without ever catching someone’s interest. “You and Keane will be given the coordinates of the higher priority target locations. Take Brody’s Wrangler as far inland as possible before then venturing off on foot. Make sure the two of you pack the essential items needed—an emergency beacon and two satellite phones with additional battery packs. The M4s are all cleaned and ready to go. Each has a pouch with six thirty-round magazines and a speed loader. Throw in a couple extra ammo cans of M855.”
“Do I want to know when you had time to order up all this coverage?” Coen asked as he stepped forward and took the proffered photographs. He studied the different areas Townes had already designated on the overlay map before lifting one corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. “You know, sleep does come in handy now and then for us human beings. The experts actually say it’s healthy for you.”
“Someone else had some wise words about sleeping when one was dead.”
Townes took a seat in his favorite chair and repressed a moan of comfort. He’d taken a shower earlier, shedding the tailored Armani suit and silk necktie that he would have liked to throw in the trash. As far as he was concerned, ties were an altogether bad idea with the exception of making wonderful tourniquets when needed. Unfortunately, there were times he needed to dress the part of a business owner to blend in with the movers and shakers he needed to back his efforts up on the Hill.
Today had been one of those days, though he was now wearing his most comfortable pair of jeans and a plain black Harley t-shirt. He’d collected many over the thousands of hours spent on the back of his bike.
“No offense, but that person probably is dead and gone.” Coen studied the satellite images in silence, making no move to leave the office. It appeared he had more to say. “Danny received a year for violating his parole. He’ll most likely be out in six to eight months for good behavior.”
Townes didn’t bother to let Coen know he’d already been apprised of Danny Flynn’s court appearance. It couldn’t be easy for a man like Coen to have a brother on the other side of the law. He didn’t need to know that Townes had already arranged for Danny’s commissary account.
“Is there anything you need?”
“The crimes that Danny committed can’t be compared to the small transgression you made to ensure Moss was put behind bars.”
Townes knew that not to be true. He’d broken the law just the same. It didn’t matter that it had prevented several women’s deaths or that the end justified the means. This was Coen’s way of saying that he would let bygones be bygones. It was also his way of indicating that he understood the reasoning behind Townes’ decision.
“Thanks.”
There was nothing more Townes could say in response so he left it at that. This topic was now closed, and they could all move forward.
“I’ll go tell Keane that we’re—”
Townes’ cell phone rang, cutting off Coen in midsentence. A look at the display read unknown caller.
“Calvert.”
“Do you miss her?” For just a moment, Townes thought he’d heard wrong. He had to be mistaken. “I do.”
“Moss. I have to admit this is quite a surprise.”
Coen’s look of disbelief didn’t stop him from quickly walking to Townes’ desk. He grabbed the receiver off the landline base, holding the phone against his shoulder as he stabbed one of the buttons. He managed to set down the glass of orange juice before quietly alerting Brody to what was transpiring. With any luck, he’d be able to trace this call to at least an area code and hopefully bring this entire manhunt to a close.
“Is it? Really?” Moss paused as if considering what to say next. Maybe he was watching a clock and gauging how much time he had before his location was revealed. “I had momentarily entertained the thought that perhaps Shailyn’s death might be nothing but a ploy of yours.”
This was the sole reason Townes needed Shailyn’s death to be as authentic as possible. Moss was far too intelligent to fall for a simple statement read on a teleprompter by a news anchor.
“That would have to be quite an elaborate setup, wouldn’t it?” Townes asked, wondering just how far Moss would take this conversation.
“An attending physician at the hospital was very forthcoming in describing in detail Shailyn’s breathing complications toward the end.” Moss had taken the bait and located the physician SSI had purposefully paid to play a role in this deception. Something of this nature wasn’t done haphazardly. Townes had started the ball rolling within a month of Moss’ break from federal prison. “It’s amazing what people will say or do for money. I’m sure the monetary donation to his bank account will help this holiday season.”
Townes wasn’t sure which focus Moss meant for that declaration to be directed. Was he implying that the doctor was paid off by SSI, or did he simply mean he offered money for the information he’d received?
A quick glance at Coen let him know they needed this conversation to continue for a successful trace. He was moving his hand in a continuous circle while listening intently for Brody’s announcement of triumph.
“It appears you were successful in the end,” Townes credited before steering this discussion in another direction. “Are you going to hide in your hole until I find you? I suggest you make this easy on yourself, Moss. Turn yourself in this afternoon and stop wasting both of our time.”
“And here I thought this would have you moving on to bigger and better opportunities.”
“You thought wrong. I’m going to take you off the street.” Townes rarely allowed himself to experience the built-up rage that was buried deep inside his soul, but he needed Moss to fully believe this ruse they’d erected to deceive him. His part had finally arrived. “Understand this, you demented fuckstick. I will not stop hunting you until you are either back in chains or preferably six feet under the ground in a potter’s field. You will pay for what you put Shailyn Doyle through, as well as those other eighteen women. Or should I say nineteen? I know all about Caroline Marinovic. I know how you see her face in every one of your victims, but I can guarantee you that it will be my face that you see as you take your last breath. That’s a promise.”
Townes had leaned forward with each and every word he uttered into the phone, ensuring Moss understood that this was far from over. It was hard to relinquish the fury that had embraced him on this tirade. He forced himself to stand and move the damp strands of hair away from his face so that he could see if Brody had been successful with the trace.
Coen finally gave him the thumbs up in success.
“I must admit that I didn’t believe you of all people would make such a challenging adversary.” It was more than apparent that Townes had taken Moss by surprise in bringing Caroline Marinovic into the conversation. It was a slight victory compared to what was to come. Unfortunately, Moss once again turned the tables. “There will be no more hunt. At least, not in this life. I’ll make sure Shailyn knows that you’re still trying to avenge her honor.”
“What are you talking about, Moss? Are you going to make this easy on me?”
Coen had already set the receiver down in its cradle and was making his way toward the door to join the others in their preparation to leave the compound when he turned on the heel of his boot. They both stood still as Townes listened to Moss’ shocking response.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Calvert. I’m sure we’ll meet again, seeing as hell is certain for us both.”
For a brief moment, Townes thought Moss had disconnected the line. That was until a loud explosion ripped through the connection to the point where Townes had to take the cell phone away from his ear. Only then was there complete silence.
Townes continued to stare at the phone as he finally understood the meaning of Moss’ words. Were they genuine? Had Moss gone and done them all a favor?
“Have Brody get that helicopter back up in the air immediately.” Townes gave the directive, but he wasn’t celebrating just yet. “I think Moss might have just done us a courtesy of sorts.”