CHAPTER FOUR
‡
“I wanted you to hear it from me first,” Sheriff Whitney stated after he’d run his thumb and index finger down the edges of his grey mustache. “Heidi Connolly’s funeral has to be postponed. This storm is approaching faster than anyone predicted, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be leaving anytime soon after it gets here. They’re calling for up to two feet of snow now.”
Coen gritted his teeth against the cold gust of wind that blew in off the porch. The sheriff had refused to come inside, saying he only needed a minute of his time before he headed back out to the station. The local boys would soon be in emergency operations mode, responding to only the direst of calls during the storm. Well, Whitney wasn’t getting off that easy.
“Did Ms. Lambert get ahold of you this afternoon?”
“Yes, in fact, she did.” Sheriff Whitney looked over his shoulder toward Brettany’s residence, which was lit up with Christmas lights from one end of the house to the other, before shaking his head in bewilderment. “She is still convinced that someone other than one of the wedding guests murdered Heidi Connolly. Personally, I think it was an individual already up at that camp, and I also don’t think this specific killing has anything to do with your case, Mr. Flynn. This might change your mind, as well. An arrest warrant is being signed by the judge as we speak. It’s my hope we can bring Martin Eyles in before the roads are closed.”
He reached for a manila envelope thick with papers the sheriff had pulled out from the inside pocket of his uniformed jacket. Sheriff Whiney touched his hat in what he considered a proper salutation and took his leave before Coen could unfold its metal clasp and peruse the stack of documents.
Coen appreciated the local law enforcement’s willingness to work with SSI, and this piece of evidence in his hands might be the very thing he needed to convince himself that Moss didn’t have anything to do with Heidi Connolly’s murder.
“Well, what do you know,” Coen muttered, looking at the list of names that had made up the guest list for Chad Perkins and Louise Wynn’s wedding. One name was circled. It appeared they had a winner in the suspect pool. Martin Eyles had a record of hurting women in the past. “Sunshine is not as far away as I thought.”
Coen quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Calvert. This would have the team resting a little easier, proving his theory incorrect regarding Moss or one of his minions having a hand in Heidi’s murder. He normally didn’t appreciate being so far off base, but he’d make an exception in this case.
“I hear it’s a little cold where you are,” Calvert said in greeting, the tone of his voice sounding like he’d taken a punch to the throat. It was a little deeper than his usual tenor and certainly matched the man’s rugged looks. Coen didn’t mean that as a compliment, either. “Brody mentioned you couldn’t get enough of the white powder, so you’re sticking around for a while for the next storm. Any particular reason that I should be concerned about your charge?”
“I’m actually calling to tell you that the sheriff is hours away from making an arrest.” Coen confessed, staring intently at the printed name on the paper in his hand. “I was off in thinking Moss had anything to do with Heidi Connolly’s murder. They have a local with a track record of hunting women. He’s on the guest list.”
“Is the great Coen Flynn admitting he was wrong? Holy shit. Someone needs to mark this down on the calendar.”
Coen didn’t miss the humor lacing his boss’ question, nor the trap he’d laid out so articulately, but there was no way in hell he was taking that bait. He’d never live it down.
“I’m saying I should be in Florida by the end of the week.” That was as far as Coen would verbally admit to being overly cautious. “It looks like Heidi Connolly had some history with Martin Eyles. They had a one night stand two months ago, according to the bride who thought it was a good idea to withhold this evidence from the police. Apparently, Eyles wanted more. Connolly didn’t, but he continued to pursue her. As you already know, it didn’t end well.”
Sheriff Whitney had also printed off numerous incidents uncovered in his investigation that had occurred over the last week that went to motive, as well as proving the escalation of Eyles’ intentions. Emails, texts, and a verbal confrontation witnessed by none other than Louise Wynn herself. Why hadn’t the bride-to-be come forward before today? He figured it also had something to do with Louise’s visit to Ms. Lambert’s place today this afternoon.
Coen didn’t have to guess as to why Brettany hadn’t paid him another visit with this new information. He couldn’t really blame her. He’d acted like a complete asshole, and it was time to clean up his mess. Hadn’t he just advised his brother to do the very same thing? What good were words if they weren’t backed up by actions?
It appeared from the stack of evidence in his hand that the two women had contacted the sheriff. Had Brettany known about Martin and Heidi all along, or had Louise filled her in and she convinced her friend to do the right thing? Even if Martin Eyles was the guilty party, it didn’t explain the lack of physical evidence up at the crime scene—a weapon, bloody clothes, anything to tie Eyles physically to the murder.
Either way, it appeared that Sheriff Whitney was making an arrest this evening. Coen would leave the investigation in his capable hands now that all signs pointed away from Shepherd Moss’ involvement.
“As I said, I’ll be on the first flight out of here once the storm subsides and the planes are able to fly again.”
“That’s good. We need you here. It’s time to take the initiative away from Moss. He believes he has the upper hand at the moment, and technically he does,” Calvert admitted, though it was likely he experienced pain with each word. “But we have the ace, and I think it’s time we used her to our advantage.”
Coen had to have misunderstood, because the team had agreed early on in this investigation that Shailyn Doyle was better left hidden within the relative anonymity of WITSEC. Sure, other people had been found under the guise of the program, but those individuals hadn’t followed the rules. They’d basically outed themselves. The program was sound and witnesses who stayed on the right track would remain safe amongst the masses of humanity enjoying a typical American lifestyle.
“An old friend with connections in the US Marshals services knows of her location.” The line was heavy with silence. Was Calvert really considering using Shailyn Doyle as bait? That was hard to believe considering the lengths that Calvert had gone to in order to ensure her safety. “It’s time to bring her into play. We need to draw him out.”
Coen could understand why Calvert would want this search to end. Too many lives had already been taken, and Moss didn’t seem like a man who could somehow change the fabric of which he was made. But to purposefully taunt a highly intelligent psychopath who always seemed to be one step ahead sounded like nothing but mayhem that would end in disaster.
“This is exactly why I need everyone here. Brody has already lined up several agencies to take over reconnaissance of potential targets. This time, the agent is a woman so that your charge won’t become too suspicious as to why the house across from her is changing hands every few weeks.”
“It won’t matter if it’s a woman or a man,” Coen said, already having made the decision to fill Brettany in on this case. “Ms. Lambert isn’t naïve. She’s already figured out part of the reason I’m here, and I’m making the decision to tell her the rest the minute we disconnect this call.”
“Please follow up your explanation to her with why this needs to remain classified,” Calvert urged, the significance of what he was suggesting hitting home. “Should she go to the press or start talking to the local residents, Moss could go underground or alternately fixate on her as his next target. We need to keep him believing he has the upper hand until I can set things in motion to tighten the net.”
Coen wasn’t sure he wanted to know what show Calvert was going to direct, but he needed to play his part regardless.
“When this ends, SSI is going to take on a couple of simple divorce cases, right? Maybe even a missing dog, or something to that effect?”
“The way your teammates keep being snatched up from bachelorhood, we’ll be taking nothing but cats in trees cases next year due to all the upcoming weddings.”
“You keep Sawyer and I out of that group. You always knew we were the smart ones.”
“Sawyer?” Calvert’s laugh was rarely heard, but the deep resounding guffaw came through loud and clear. “You might want to give your sidekick a call before you lose service. Listen, finish up your business there and do what you think is best with regards to Ms. Lambert. Then you get your ass back down here so that we can finish what Moss started.”
Coen pulled his phone away from his ear, staring at the lighted display with surprise. Was Calvert suggesting that Sawyer hooked up with Brody’s sister?
No.
Brody would shoot Sawyer before ever allowing something like that to happen.
Calvert was pulling his leg, trying to get one over on Coen. There was no damned way he was going to fall for that one. And the odds of a movie star like Camryn Novak falling for a grunt like Sawyer had to be incalculable. Not to mention there wasn’t a chance in hell Brody would have allowed any type of relationship between Sawyer and Camryn in the first place.
Coen let out an easy laugh at Calvert’s attempt to ruffle some feathers, most all of them having had fun a time or two at Brody’s expense. It would be good to be back in the fold, but first he had a few things to tidy up.
The light pink color of Brettany’s crocheted mittens caught his attention. She’d left them behind in her haste to leave his living room this afternoon, not that he could blame her after his behavior. It was time to set things to right, and he could do so with ease now that Heidi’s killer had been proven not to be connected with his case.
Moss was most likely in Florida attempting to manipulate another acolyte to perform his will, but Coen had learned early on in his life that assumptions could get a person killed. An outside agency continuing to keep tabs on Brettany would ease his concerns. He shrugged on his jacket before shoving the stacks of papers the sheriff had given him back into the folder. He then grabbed the soft, fuzzy mittens and headed out the door.
It didn’t take long to lock up, survey the surrounding area, and then walk across the street with the intention of bringing this latest assignment to a close. Coen would give Brody the okay to send in another agency to monitor Brettany’s comings and goings the minute this storm lifted, ensuring her safety until Shepherd Moss was brought back into custody.
The front of the storm had already arrived in the form of the first few large flakes falling softly to his feet. They immediately stuck to the frozen earth because of the freezing temperatures, already adding on to the several inches on the ground. He truly hoped that this storm didn’t stall out over them the way the weatherman had predicted earlier. It was time to go home and wrap up this case that had been hanging over their heads for far too long.
Coen briskly knocked, turning his head to keep the wind out of his face. The street looked like something out of a Christmas movie. Bright, colorful lights decorated bushes, trees, and houses in celebration of the holiday, while there was even a snowman or two in the yards where children lived. The brilliance of the red, green, blue, and white lights were diminished slightly by the falling snow. His eyes watered slightly at the relentless wind. Hell might very well have frozen over when no one was looking, no matter how picturesque the dark underworld appeared.
“Deputy Flynn.” Brettany addressed him formally as she finally opened the door. Had she purposefully kept him waiting? Her green eyes slid over his shoulder toward his rental house, the only gloomy yard on the block. It was her way of saying she hadn’t forgotten their earlier run-in when he’d acted like an ass. “You don’t strike me as the type of neighbor to want to borrow a cup of sugar.”
Her reference to the nickname he’d called her earlier wasn’t lost on him. This fiery little kitten had some claws, contradicting everything he’d learned about her over the course of the last month. It was good to see that she had some fire inside of her. He didn’t like to think she’d left herself open to being taken advantage of, especially during a time like this.
“I guess I deserved that.” Coen held up her mittens, but quickly pulled them out of her reach when she made an attempt to take them back. “May I come in? I’d like to apologize.”
Coen half-expected her to say he could go to hell. Technically, he’d already confirmed he was there currently. Brettany refrained though and took a step back. He wasn’t surprised in the least when he walked past her into a scent cloud made up entirely of milk chocolate cupcakes.
He closed his eyes to prevent him from shaking his head in disbelief. With the exception of the small fire he’d seen in her green eyes earlier and the sharp little claws she’d shown at the front door, she could very well be Betty fucking Crocker.
“Um, Sheriff Whitney stopped by a few minutes ago.” Coen opened his dialogue up with work, figuring that was safer in the long run. “He mentioned that you and Louise gave him enough information to go on that he was able to tie Martin Eyles to Heidi’s murder. It would appear that this isn’t the first time Eyles had some trouble with the law. An arrest warrant is being issued as we speak, and Martin should be in custody within the next couple of hours.”
“Is that your idea of an apology?” Brettany asked with a raised eyebrow in disappointment that might work on the children in her class, but not him. Her curls had been contained in some type of clip on top of her head, but it in no way took away from her beauty. “I would think a grown man would know better. Please take your boots off before you track water all over my house. I don’t want my hardwood floors ruined.”
Brettany uncrossed her arms and walked by him with what appeared to be dismissal. She expected him to follow her orders, and he came very close to purposefully tracking melting snow in his wake. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.
Coen took his time removing his jacket and boots, swiping up her mittens he’d set on the side entry table. Brettany was nowhere to be found, but he could hear the clinking of bowls from the kitchen. The blueprint of her residence currently resided on his phone, and he’d studied every inch of this house. It reminded him that he hadn’t handled the people aspect of this assignment the way he should have.
He stopped in the middle of the living room to study the Christmas tree, positioned perfectly in front of her front window. It was something straight out of a Martha Stewart magazine, hand-blown glass ornaments and all. She definitely had a sentimental side to her as there were also handmade decorations that were no doubt given to her by some of the children in her classroom. It was a reminder that he was dealing with a small-town woman who loved her neighbors, excelled at her job, and put others above herself. He needed to tread carefully.
“I am truly sorry for how I reacted this afternoon,” Coen sincerely apologized as he rested his shoulder against the doorframe. He quietly observed Brettany as she spread icing on one of the cupcakes he’d correctly guessed she’d been making upon his arrival. Was that homemade frosting? He ran one hand over his face as he wondered why that even surprised him. “You didn’t deserve that, and I should have been more professional.”
“Are you ever going to tell me who you really are?”
Brettany never once halted her progress on smearing icing on the cupcakes. Hell, they could have easily been talking about the weather. Coen didn’t like that she had the ability to shake the foundation he’d established early on in his surveillance.
“Do you remember your days back in middle school when you lived in Florida?”
Coen shifted his weight and proceeded to the island that was covered in bakeware. He pulled out a stool and got comfortable, thinking there was no reason to rush this conversation. Neither one of them were going anywhere anytime soon. He wasn’t surprised when that perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose once again, though this time in astonishment.
“Of course, I do.” Brettany carefully set down the chocolate cupcake that was only half covered in frosting. Her green eyes studied him. “Are you saying you and I knew each other back then?”
“No,” Coen corrected, unable to resist taking a swipe of the creamy icing in one of the stainless-steel bowls. His taste buds salivated when the blissful sugar landed on his tongue. Damn, but that was the best frosting he’d ever tasted. He savored the flavor until only the aftertaste remained and he was finally able to speak. “But you were really good friends with a girl named Shailyn Doyle.”
“Shailyn?” Brettany’s features lit up with joy as he suspected her childhood memories returned of overnight shenanigans, not-so-secret diaries, and boy talk. Unfortunately, recollections of a murder trial that this generation would never forget hit home just seconds later. Worry lines immediately appeared as she set down the spatula spreader in the bowl as probably hundreds of questions tried to form in her mind. “I wasn’t able to make contact with her after I’d heard about what happened. Is she okay? I saw on the news that Shepherd Moss escaped from prison. I can’t imagine what she’s…”
Brettany’s words faded as she took an involuntary step back, almost to the edge of the kitchen sink. Her green eyes were wide with concern as she started to put two and two together.
“Oh, my God,” Brettany whispered in disbelief. “You thought Shepherd Moss was here, didn’t you?”