Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five)

by Kennedy Layne

  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?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‡

  “Why would Shepherd Moss be in Colorado?” Brett asked as cold tentacles of fear started to surround her in their cold grasp. She could literally feel them slithering around her soul. “I don’t understand.”

  The national news coverage on the murder trial had revealed in microscopic detail the very specific way Shepherd Moss had taken great pleasure in torturing innocent women…including Shailyn. The reporters’ accounts of what was being said in the courtroom had Brett, and every other woman in the United States, sick to her stomach with nausea. It had been hard to watch that monster sit there with a disinterested look about him as they covered the trial, and even more difficult for Brett because she hadn’t been able to reach out to an old friend who’d once been as close as a sister to her. Shailyn had subsequently gone through unimaginable suffering at the hands of a sick bastard.

  “I no longer believe Moss is here. You’re safe,” Coen reassured her from his seat across the island. He leaned his elbows on the grey speckled granite to apparently stress that fact, but it was lost on her as her mind swirled with its own thoughts. He was talking about a notorious serial killer who’d escaped from a federal prison. “I promise. My agency, SSI, is aiding both the Bureau and the U.S. Marshals service in their quest to bring Shepherd Moss back into custody.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” Brett did her best to prevent the tremor in her voice from becoming too pronounced. All she could envision right now was Heidi’s sightless eyes. What if Louise had been wrong about Martin? “Heidi’s death—”

  “Martin Eyles killed Heidi Connolly.” Coen went to reach into his jacket, but then patted the back pockets of his jeans, unsuccessfully in whatever he was searching for. “Sheriff Whitney has evidence that those two had a brief affair that quickly ended in a manner that never pleased Eyles. But you already knew that, because you’re the one who gave him the lead that followed to an arrest warrant being issued. But you’re right about my role here being more involved than what took place up at the campground, Brettany.”

  He’d called her by her first name. Now that she was able to relax somewhat upon his assurance that Heidi’s death was in no way was connected to a notorious serial killer, Brett was able to clear away some of her apprehension. He hadn’t used her nickname like she’d asked, but it was progress in the right direction.

  “I’ll try to make a long story short,” Coen offered, though she bit her tongue to keep from telling him she wanted to hear all the details.

  How was she involved? Was he watching her because he thought Shailyn had attempted to contact her? Wasn’t Shailyn in some type of federal witness protection program? Brett had so many questions that it was probably best to hear what he had to say before inundating him with a ton of inquiries.

  “Shepherd Moss brutally murdered a woman in Wyoming a few months ago after his escape from federal prison,” Coen admitted while watching her closely for some type of reaction. Brett technically should be sitting down considering her knees were practically knocking together, but she didn’t want to chance them giving out as she made her way to a chair. Instead, she leaned back against the sink counter so that she had some support. “The woman had loose ties with Shailyn Doyle from back in elementary school. Based on that fact, we couldn’t ignore the signs that Moss was about to go on another killing spree to try and lure Ms. Doyle out from her protection under WITSEC. SSI very carefully chose certain friends and family of Ms. Doyle, specifically those who fit Moss’ preference.”

  “I remember hearing something about that during the initial trial,” Brett recalled, trying to think back to what the women all had in common. It came to her like the stinging burn on her hand she’d received not thirty minutes ago. “Brunette. They were all brunettes, because I remember wondering why Shailyn would have been a victim, considering she’s a redhead.”

  “I’ve read over the case files. Multiple times, in fact,” Coen shared as he pushed back the stool he’d been using. He came around the island and surprised her by reaching for the tea pot she had sitting on the stove. He picked it up, but set it back down on the burner upon realizing it was still full. All the while he had his back to her without turning to see her reaction. He twisted the dial until the gas flames came to life. “Ms. Doyle had changed the color of her hair many years ago. Moss never did reveal how she caught his attention, but their paths must have crossed at some point. I’m aware she went back to her natural color during the trial.”

  Brett was still trying to accept the true reason for Coen’s presence, so she didn’t even think to tell Coen where the mugs were when he started to open the cupboards. It wasn’t so surprising to her when he chose the right one. Just how long had he been watching her?

  “Why me? I mean, I know my hair color is the same as Moss’ previous victims, but so is half the population of the U.S. Why would he come after me? It’s not like I’ve spoken with Shailyn since I left Florida. My God, we were only eleven or twelve years old back when I knew her.”

  “The U.S. Marshals service asked for help, and our first act was to ensure no one else died on our watch. As I said before, we weren’t taking any chances and were very careful to narrow down a possible list of names who Moss might target. You were on that short list, but now that Heidi’s murder was proven not to have any ties to my investigation, I’m heading back to Florida as soon as possible. There have been some new leads that developed while I’ve been gone that changes the course of our assignment. I’m needed there.” Coen already had a teabag in one of her favorite cups and was in the process of adding a teaspoon of sugar. “You’ll still have someone nearby should you need her. I’ll supply her name to you once she arrives into town after the storm clears. I just need your assurance that you’ll keep this information to yourself. You can’t mention this to your friends, your family, or any type of press agency. We can’t afford to have Moss figure out that we have eyes on practically everyone associated with Ms. Doyle who fits his predilections. He’d be more likely to kill outside of his comfort zone just to make a point.”

  Brett couldn’t say she ever experienced true fear until she’d stumbled upon Heidi’s body up at the camp. Even then, it was more shock, disbelief, and sadness that her friend had died. Granted, they weren’t the best of friends like she’d once been with Shailyn, but Heidi had still been a kind person who had touched Brett’s life with her optimism.

  Hearing Coen talk about Moss murdering women like it was an everyday occurrence was disturbing on an all new level. The average day should be waking up for work, keeping appointments one would rather cancel, making dinner for the family, and then enjoying a quiet evening before getting ready for bed and then doing it all over again the next day. What Coen was referring to was grisly, inhumane, and downright morally corrupt. It was evil.

  “Brettany?” Just how many times had Coen been calling her name? “I need your promise that you won’t say anything to anyone about our Shepherd Moss investigation.”

  Brett nodded, but she couldn’t answer him around the knot in her throat. She needed to clear her head before following up with those questions she had, so she mindlessly started to clean up the mess she’d made earlier in an effort to calm her nerves after her visit with Louise. At this rate, she’d have a kitchen full of sweets that she wouldn’t be able to eat for fear of gaining any more weight
than she already had this far into winter.

  “This new information we have points to Moss having his attention averted elsewhere.” Was Coen telling her the truth, or was he just trying to calm her already frayed nerves? “Brettany, are you hearing me?”

  She hadn’t realized that he’d been standing next to her, nor had she expected him to take her by the arms. Coen had always maintained a professional distance between them, so having him touch her with such familiarity was a tad bit disconcerting. What was even more confusing to her was when she didn’t step away, but instead met his gaze when he slowly lifted her chin with his index finger.

  Coen’s dark gaze was so confident that it was hard not to believe his next statement.

  “I wouldn’t leave Colorado if I thought for a minute you weren’t safe.”

  Brett startled a bit when the tea kettle began to whistle in that familiar high-pitched squeal. It also seemed to make Coen realize he was getting a little too close for comfort. He stepped back and dropped his arms, the movement causing his firearm’s holster to gain her attention.

  She’d asked him who he was earlier, and he’d just told her…but it wasn’t enough.

  “Have you spoken to Shailyn recently?” Brett asked after clearing her throat. She grabbed some of the bowls that needed to be washed, very grateful to have something to do with her hands. The focus of this past week had been about death. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken this week off, but instead spent it with her class. There was something to be said for a seven-year-old’s innocence. “Is she okay?”

  “Shailyn is safe in WITSEC. The program is very effective when the witness follows the rules.” Coen was already in the process of pouring the steaming hot water over the tea bag. The kettle had stopped making that nerve-wracking sound, but Brett’s nerves were still quite frayed. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that a serial killer might have chosen her to make his point. “You’re safe as well. I’ll be heading out as soon as flights are permitted to take off from the regional airport. In the meantime, I’ll answer any questions you have while you drink your tea. I’ll finish icing the cupcakes so that you can sit down.”