CHAPTER THREE
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Brett was exhausted. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for over a week, which was why she’d turned down Coen’s offer for coffee. Another excuse not to close her eyes certainly wouldn’t be beneficial at this point. She’d come close to making an appointment with her doctor, thinking maybe a prescription of some sleeping pills would help, but she hadn’t been able to make the call. Was it vanity or pride that she didn’t want to appear weak?
“Ms. Lambert, why didn’t you call the sheriff with this information?”
Why? That was a good question and one she could answer. Bret found herself constantly on edge, looking over her shoulder for some monster to come out of the darkness. The problem was that she was afraid she would recognize the face. The police were hellbent on proving one of her small group of friends was a killer, but she couldn’t accept that.
“Ms. Lambert is my mother,” Brett corrected, finally able to relax enough so that she could sit back and sink into the comfortable cushion. She’d been on an emotional roller coaster all week, and today had been no exception. Being in his presence somehow made it so that she didn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. The holster he wore might also have something to do with that feeling of security. “Please call me Brett.”
Coen didn’t respond to her request. She noticed that he purposefully remained silent at times, and she wondered if he’d been trained to conduct interviews in this fashion to obtain more information. His technique had certainly worked on her last week, and she found herself caving under his dark stare now.
“Sheriff Whitney thinks one my friends murdered Heidi, and I know that’s not true,” Brett insisted, somehow sensing he believed her. “Everyone is being treated as a suspect, but Louise and Chad’s family and friends are not murderers. They did not hurt Heidi. They were all drinking together that night except for Heidi and me. I’m afraid anything I say could get one of them in trouble.”
Coen leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee as if he were about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. Did he know something she didn’t? She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that the local police literally thought someone she knew could brutally murder an innocent woman.
Brett braced herself for the accusations against her friends that the sheriff had already spouted, though she could see how this situation might look to someone on the outside. Heidi’s funeral was scheduled for tomorrow and she’d seen enough crime television shows to know that the police would be in attendance in hopes that someone stood out as a suspect. She certainly didn’t want to add to their suspicions.
“Wait. Am I a suspect?” Brett asked astonishingly, never having taken that possibility into consideration. Her heartrate accelerated at the thought the sheriff could believe she would do something so atrocious, but it made sense now. It was then that something else crossed her mind, instantly causing her stomach to roll in nausea. “Oh, my God. That’s why you rented this house, isn’t it? You think I killed Heidi and you’re—”
“Ms. Lambert, my living across from you has nothing to do with me thinking you killed anyone,” Coen reassured her, though it was anything but comforting. His intimidating demeanor said otherwise. “There’s no evidence to support that theory at all. It’s Sheriff Whitney’s job to question those who knew the victim and eliminate them from the suspect pool, as well as take into consideration the fact that it would have been all but impossible for anyone else outside of the guest list to be the guilty party. We’re all well aware of how severe that snowstorm was last week. No one could have made it up to the mountain range and back down again without preparation. That is, unless Heidi’s murder was premeditated and someone set up camp well before anyone else arrived at that site.”
Brett sat back in surprise, though a weight had suddenly lifted off her shoulders. Had he meant to do that? He’d practically given her a gift. It was the only plausible explanation that made sense, and she was able to start connecting the dots.
“That’s why the person tried to cover their tracks, isn’t it? Although it doesn’t explain why the killer would have gone back to Heidi’s cabin.” Brett eagerly started to run through several possible scenarios. “Unless whoever it was wanted to get rid of her body and maybe buy himself some time for the storm to stop so he could escape.”
“Ms. Lam—”
“Brett,” she insisted in frustration, unable to sit still as she tried to put the pieces together. She tossed her mittens behind her as she stood up and started to pace back and forth in front of the old brick hearth, honestly feeling better than she had in the last seven days. “This changes everything. Have you looked into Heidi’s past? Wait. Of course, you have. She was an open book, even telling strangers intimate things one normally would keep private. Once she got going, there was no stopping her. Maybe she—”
“Brettany.”
She spun around with a slight gasp, surprised Coen had moved from his position on the couch to a foot behind her without her hearing a sound. The mention of her name was also quite startling, especially since this was the first time he’d ever addressed her in that manner. The faint odor of cigarette smoke mixed with his cologne was somehow reassuring, and she resisted the urge to step closer to his imposing presence.
“You need to let the police do their job.” Coen shook his head in what appeared to be disappointment. The slight stir of anger felt good compared to the fear she’d been experiencing every night. Every dream consisted of Heidi’s sightless eyes with her pale lips moving slowly…as if she were trying to say something underneath her breath. “Whoever killed Heidi is still at large, which means he or she is watching the news intently for any signs that the authorities might be closing in. The last thing the sheriff needs is for you to put your own life in danger because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“You don’t think it’s someone I know, do you?” Brett asked in a whisper, afraid he wouldn’t respond if she asked with too much force. “You’re thinking along the same lines as me, aren’t you?”
“I try not to make assumptions that could cost someone else their life,” Coen hedged, though she sensed she was right in her hypothesis. “You should call the sheriff to tell him what you remembered, but then you need to back off and allow the authorities to handle the investigation.”
Brett took ahold of her scarf, separating the two sides so that she had something to grip in her hands. She fought the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him in frustration, not that her fingers would have been able to wrap around a man so formidable. He was built in a manner that the sheriff or deputies would never achieve, even if they worked out twenty-four seven. His kind of structure was something a man was born with. He didn’t get it by attending the local gym.
Just who was Coen Flynn?
“Why are you here?” Bret couldn’t prevent the question from escaping her lips, which were still dry with trepidation. “The sheriff said you worked with him, but I’ve never seen you in uniform or caught a glimpse of a badge. You refer to the authorities as them, not us. And you always seem to be home, constantly watching my house when you’re smoking outside. Did I mention that this house doesn’t even have a single picture on the walls? And where are your Christmas decorations? You don’t even have a tree.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was you watching me, sugar,” Coen replied with a sexy smile that caused her heart to stutter. He’d turned the tables on her with a simple endearment. He’d gone out of his way to keep things on a professional level, never once seeking her out. Now that she’d tried to turn the tables, he’d gone on the offensive quite effectively. He even took a step closer, trapping a heat between them that had nothing to do with the air being produced from the old house’s furnace. “If you wanted to get to know me better, all you had to do was ask.”
Brett weighed her options carefully. His eyes were practically black in color, matching the short beard that covered his lower face. It was almost impossible to read his expression, though the whiskers didn’t detract from his appeal in the least. It actually added to it.
He was playing her right now, because she’d pointed something out he didn’t want to address with her. She didn’t think for a moment that she was his type. She was the girl next door that everyone liked to take under their wing and protect. She’d heard that type of sentiment many times over, so he didn’t detract her in the least from her line of thinking.
This man was both smart and dangerous.
It was in the way he talked, his confident stride, and every fiber of his being.
It was in his nature to steer clear of women like her. He’d want the no-strings, carefree individual who wouldn’t question him for fear of pushing him away.
It was a good thing she didn’t lack confidence and honestly didn’t care about his personal reaction…other than getting to the truth.
“Does that kind of charm work on all the women you run with?” Brett asked resolutely, refusing to be the first one to break eye contact. She also held her ground and didn’t take a step back like he apparently thought she would in reaction to his encroachment. “You’re making me curious to find out how you would react if I actually took you up on that offer.”
Coen never let his half-smile slip, though she could have sworn she caught sight of the muscle alongside his jawline twitching in agitation. She smiled…truly smiled for the first time in a week. He thought she would have turned tail and run like a skittish little bunny or maybe a nervous schoolgirl.
“Your profession should have taught you to never judge a book by its cover, right?”
Coen was saved from answering when his cell phone rang. She was honestly surprised that it wasn’t the typical ringtone, but instead a melody she recognized. At least, she thought she did. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and answered before she could identify the song.
“Flynn.”
The interruption gave Coen the ability to step back without looking as if he’d lost the engagement he’d tried to start moments ago. She could be gracious in her win, but the genuine reason she let her eyes drift away was to look around the living room of this so-called rental. There wasn’t even a glass or plate left out on the furniture, nor a single flyer from the paper she saw delivered every morning. Either Coen was very anal retentive or he purposefully kept this place spotless because he wouldn’t be here for long.
“I’ll have to call you back.”
Coen obviously didn’t want to speak with whoever was on the other end of the line in front of her. Was it the sheriff? Maybe another investigator? Did the call have something to do with Heidi’s murder?
“Danny, I’m in the middle of a case. I can’t keep cleaning up your messes.” Coen had taken the tone she did with her class when the children weren’t listening. “The best thing that you can do right now is go speak with your parole officer. Regardless of what you think of him, he’s there to help you transition back into civilian life.”
Brett didn’t want to make Coen uncomfortable any more than he already was by speaking in front of her, so she distanced herself by walking to the window. She drew back the curtain, surprised to find Louise’s vehicle parked across the street. The blonde was quickly running up the small walkway, and with good reason. She wasn’t wearing a jacket.
“I’ve got to go.” Brett mouthed the words as she hastily collected her coat. “Sorry.”
She didn’t give Coen a chance to finish his phone call. It was probably for the best. Things had gotten a tad bit uncomfortable between the two of them, and she wasn’t sure what came next. Should they address her need to call the sheriff about what she remembered? Or should they talk about the fact that he’d just flirted with her to divert her attention from asking him personal questions?
She didn’t want to talk about either one right now, so she gratefully took the bread crumb offered in the form of Louise’s visit. Brett shrugged into her jacket and made sure Coen’s door was shut tight before she made her way back across the icy street. Louise had already turned around and was about to walk back to her vehicle when she spotted Brett.
“Hurry up,” Louise chattered with her arms crossed around her midsection in an attempt to keep warm. “It’s cold out here.”
“Of course, it is,” Brett chided, shaking her head at Louise’s idiocy. She never stopped to think things through. “We live in Colorado, Louise. Where is your winter jacket?”
“In my car.” Louise huddled close to Brett for warmth as she unlocked the door. Or was there another reason? It was something her friend had never did before, not finding the need in this safe neighborhood. All of that changed with Heidi’s murder. “I hate the bulky feeling when I drive, so I took it off. Where were you? Is that a new neighbor across the street?”
“Deputy Coen rented out old man Wilson’s house. I was just seeing if there was an update on the investigation.” Brett had never zipped her parka, so she let the fleecy material fall down her arms before hanging the hood on the hook of her coatrack. She toed her Ugg boots off, leaving them to dry on the side mat she purposefully kept against the wall and under the register for that very reason. She experienced a little bit of guilt for not implementing that consideration upon entering Coen’s house, even though he’d traipsed inside the rental property without a care in the world. “I remembered something from that night that might prove someone else other than one of us killed…”
Brett still had trouble saying the words aloud. Heidi was gone. The sharp stab in her chest hadn’t faded in the least, and she swallowed back against the tears that had come and gone since last weekend. Louise hadn’t responded to Brett’s declaration, so she looked back to find her friend still unzipping her designer boots to set them on the plastic placemat.
“I’ll go and make us some hot tea.”
“I think it was Martin,” Louise blurted out, causing Brett to spin around in shock at the accusation. “I think Martin killed Heidi, and I think he’s coming after me next.”
*
He lifted his foot off the accelerator just enough so that it wouldn’t be obvious to any of the neighbors. The vehicle slowed and allowed him to see the two women enter the house.
What were they talking about?
Had Brettany remembered something from that night? Had Louise?
Had either woman caught a glimpse of him?
Surely it would have been all over the news had either one gone to the police with anything.
A man walking his two Labradors raised a hand in acknowledgement as the dogs tried to run across the road after having seen something that had caught their attention. He had no choice but to press on the gas pedal, clearing the way for the man to walk across the street.
This uncertainty of whether or not Brettany Lambert could be his undoing needed to be dealt with…
Tonight.