CHAPTER SIX
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Coen waited patiently for Brettany to close the bathroom door behind her before he continued to cautiously walk through her living room. All the lights were on in the house, so it would make it difficult to look out the sheer curtains and into the darkness. The bright blue lights on her Christmas tree alone would make that almost impossible.
He was able to turn off two of the lamps positioned on each end of the couch in an attempt to minimize being backlit directly. There was nothing he could do about the fact that he was an open target, but that wasn’t his main concern.
Moss wasn’t one to announce his presence in such an openly defiant method. He was able to gain the upper hand through outwitting his prey. He was not one for barging in on his target without knowing an armed opponent was on the premises who was well versed in close combat and would most certainly hold an advantage in said situation.
Chances were that a branch had blown loose from the large cottonwood tree and had smacked into the side of the house. Maybe the additional weight of the snow and ice had caused part of the tree to break off. Either way, he wasn’t taking any chances with Brettany’s safety.
Coen quickly and efficiently slipped his feet inside his boots before very carefully opening the front door. He grimaced as the bitter cold wind greeted him upon stepping outside. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket, for that would have taken up way too much time and put him at a tactical disadvantage.
The rate at which the snow was falling had picked up with a vengeance, and the flakes were no longer graceful in their lazy descent. The strong gusts were blowing the snow in what basically simulated one of those snow globes. He’d seen and experienced a hell of a lot worse in Norway, so he did his best to ignore the harsh elements as he carefully surveyed the area through what visibility he had in front of him.
What the hell?
Coen squinted against the ceaseless flakes as he tried to make out what had caught his interest.
There—off to the left and toward one of the older boxelder trees that bracketed the larger cottonwood in Brettany’s front yard.
The snow had taken on a reddish tint from where the blinking hazard lights of a vehicle had been initiated in what appeared to be a slide-off accident. Coen stepped off the porch and cautiously made his way toward the heap of metal that had made impact with the large, older tree. The faint dinging sound of an open door became even louder as he walked closer to the wreckage.
Where the hell was the driver?
Coen did a full three-sixty to clear the immediate area before he reached in the open door and pulled out the keys. The street lamp gave little in way of light considering the heavy snow, but it was enough to discern that the driver was definitely no longer inside the car.
He looked down to try and make out if there were tracks that would indicate which direction the driver had taken, but the shadow of the car made that all but impossible. He took a step toward the street in an effort to pick up the trail. Sure enough, tracks led to the road where the footprints continued west until the trajectory faded into the blowing squalls. Whoever had run off the road hadn’t wanted to wait around for the tow truck.
Why didn’t the driver ring the doorbell and ask for help or at least explain what had happened before leaving the property?
None of how this was unwinding was sitting too well with Coen.
Had the driver been drunk or injured? It didn’t appear that the airbags had been deployed. Maybe the driver didn’t want to hang around to answer embarrassing questions about having alcohol on his or her breath. It was also too hard to see if there was any blood on the interior of the seats. The impact didn’t seem to be enough to have caused too much damage.
A quick glance at Brettany’s front door told him it was still secure, nor were there any tracks leading to either side of the house. He swung his glance back toward the tree, looking for a branch or whatever had broken loose and hit the side of her house. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make anything out in the darkness. He’d have to go back inside and retrieve a flashlight if he wanted to see any damage that may have been done upon impact.
Coen palmed the keys and then closed the door, noting the make and model of the vehicle, as well as the license plate. It was a black Chevy Impala with Colorado plates. No one he knew of who was associated with Brettany drove that type of vehicle, nor did he recall any of her neighbors on the street owning one. He would check the glove compartment once he returned from getting the necessary items he needed from the house.
“Brettany?” Coen didn’t bother to take off his boots, though he didn’t cross the line where the entry tile and the hardwood floor of the living room met in a seamless transition. “Come on out! Someone wrecked into one of your trees out front.”
“What?” Brettany asked before she rounded the corner. She was hastily making her way across the room and putting on her boots before he could stop her. “Please tell me it wasn’t Mr. Landry down the street. He promised me he’d be back before the storm hit. Do we need to call 911?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Coen asked, shaking his head before he even finished the last word. Two minutes ago, she was scared shitless that a serial killer had come to kill her in cold blood. “I didn’t mean for you to come outside. I only meant the coast was clear. I need a flashlight so that I can check to see how bad the damage is to your house. A downed limb could have damaged the roof. I’m assuming a large branch fell, but the storm is too heavy for me to make it out from the lights out front. Turn on any outside floodlights you have so that I can evaluate the damage, if there is any.”
“I’m not worried about the house, Coen.” Brettany shot him a look of disapproval. She grabbed her jacket and was hastily shoving her arms in the sleeves as she turned toward the door. “We might need to get Mr. Landry an ambulance.”
“Brettany, it’s not Landry. As a matter of fact, the driver left on foot heading west.” Coen grabbed the hood of her coat to prevent her from reaching the doorknob, causing her upper body to bend as she took another step forward. “Would you stop, please? There’s no need for you to go outside in this weather. I need you to get me a flashlight and turn on your outside lights.”
Brettany batted his hand away from her hood with a frown before turning to face him.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Brettany spun around anyway, holding her hands up to the window so that she could see outside. “Whose car is it?”
“I don’t know,” Coen replied as he lifted his jacket off the coat rack. “It’s not someone from the neighborhood. If you could grab me that flashlight, I’ll take a look around and also check the glove compartment to see who it belongs to. Maybe we can find a number and call to make sure the driver made it home safe on foot.”
Coen breathed a little easier when she pulled away from the door. She passed him, only to stop at the entryway table. She then opened one of the two drawers, magically producing an old mag-light type flashlight. He took it from her and ensured that it was in working order, narrowing the focus to midrange. He’d been about to thank her when she had to go and set his teeth on edge. She’d produced a second mag-light and her intentions were obvious.
“Just out of curiosity, does your class listen to instructions as well as you do?” Coen was now standing between her and the door. He didn’t have any plans to move while she had it in her head that she was joining him outside. “Or do they just do as they please, just like their teacher?”
Brettany had already pulled the hood of her jacket over her curls, causing her green eyes to appear brighter as she stared at him in confusion. They finally cleared with understanding, but it was easy for him to see that a storm was brewing—and he wasn’t talking about the one outside.
“You know, I’ve had a really tough week. I don’t need to be ridiculed by you, Mr. Flynn.” Brettany set one hand on her waist and used the flashlight to point in his direction in order to stress every word she said. “A friend of mine was murdered, another one is to blame, and then you arrive on my doorstep to tell me you’ve been watching me for—”
Brettany waved her flashlight at Coen, trying to prompt a response.
“Around a month,” Coen played along, sympathetic to what she’d been through this past week. “And your point?”
“A month?” His timetable had apparently thrown her off balance, because she pushed back her hood with the flashlight and stared at him in disbelief. “A month? You’ve only been across the street for a week, as far as I knew.”
“I was camping in your backyard, just inside the edge of the woods, for about three weeks prior to that,” Coen admitted, not feeling guilty in the least. It had been his job to keep her safe, and he’d accomplished that. He’d even had eyes on her up at the campground the entire time, though that hadn’t helped Heidi Connolly. “Brettany, all I’m trying to say is that I’d rather you stay inside while I check the house for damage. There is no need for you to expose yourself. I’ll grab some papers out of the glove compartment for you to try and reach the driver, just to reassure yourself that they are inside somewhere safe, sound, dry, and warm.”
“Fine.” Brettany set the flashlight down on the entry table with a thud. “But only if you start calling me Brett. Only my parents use my full name. I’m beginning to think you are channeling my father.”
“Not going to happen on either count.” Coen flashed a smile, although he’d waited to disagree with her until after she’d removed her jacket and hung it up on one of the empty hooks. “I knew a Brett back in high school. He tried to steal a kiss from my girl under the bleachers during a football game that I happened to be playing at the time.”
“You’re just full of stories of woe, aren’t you?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Coen coerced, relaxing somewhat now that Brettany was taking off her boots. “You finish frosting those cupcakes so that I can eat a few, and I’ll tell you some tales of my time in the service that will have you laughing the rest of the night—guaranteed.”
Coen didn’t wait for Brettany’s answer, not wanting to give her time to change her mind about staying behind. Regardless that he’d cleared the area of any threats, it was still better to keep her inside during a massive snowstorm that had only just begun. At least two feet of snow was predicted, but that wasn’t Coen’s concern at the moment. He turned the flashlight on and scanned the beam across the front yard before zeroing in on the vehicle.
Why would an otherwise normal driver leave the scene of a crash, abandoning his or her car while leaving the door open with the keys inside?
Something wasn’t adding up, and his first priority had to be ensuring Brettany’s safety.