The danger Brettany had found herself in had passed, so there was really no reason for him to be here other than for shared warmth. Ten inches of snow had fallen at a rapid rate since yesterday. Unfortunately, the storm had stalled over them and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to clear the skies.
Coen gently moved one of her curls away from her eyelashes. She was so animated when she was awake that it was rare to see her so still…and so at peace. Brettany had been through a lot this past week. It was quite a pace for a small-town girl. He was grateful that she could now put everything behind her and move on.
It was odd. He’d been watching over her for the past month. In doing so, he’d gotten to know her better than most of the women he’d dated in the past. That didn’t say much about his character really, but he was content with being on his own right now. He didn’t want to think about why he needed confirmation on that front. What he needed to do was help his brother straighten out his life first.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that his teammates—Keane, Royce, and Brody—had found someone during what could only be considered the worst possible timing ever. Now they not only had to worry about their siblings and other family members being targeted by a sick and twisted psychopath, but now they had to include the women they cared about…women who almost all fit Moss’ penchant for brunettes with lean builds.
Coen wrapped the silky curl around his finger as his mind idly wandered, reminding himself of the reason he was in Colorado to begin with. She was one hundred and ten percent off limits. An individual couldn’t properly protect someone he or she got involved with, and he wasn’t exempt from that particular group either. He would do well to remember that.
“Good morning.”
Coen had known before Brettany even whispered those two words that she’d been watching him through her lashes. Her rosy lips had parted slightly when she’d stirred awake. It was time for him to take his leave, but there was nothing saying he couldn’t have a taste of sweetness before he left.
“I believe you owe me a cupcake.” Coen drew his hand away with a smile, doing his best to keep his distance. “One with a proper chocolate icing swirl.”
“You’re leaving?” Brettany’s gaze studied his as she slowly sat up, allowing those curls he liked so much to fall over her shoulders. Her clip had come out sometime last night. She reminded him of those sirens he used to read about in the pirate books he liked so much as a kid. That comparison alone had him heeding his decision to leave well enough alone. “Do you even have a generator over at that rental house?”
“No,” Coen grimaced at the reminder, but his job here was done. He needed to reach out to Brody to figure out if his relief had arrived before the airport had shut down. He or she could be holed up at one of the hotels or been stranded when the highway closed trying to drive up prior to the storm arriving. “I don’t have a generator, but you don’t want me sticking around here to eat all your cupcakes. Now that Eyles is in custody and Moss seems to be busy elsewhere, there’s no reason for me to hang around here. I’m sure you’d rather have your privacy than have a stranger in your home.”
Coen had a gut feeling she was going to disagree with that statement, so he took advantage of her position and used the couch as leverage as he unfolded his somewhat stiff frame. Damn, but he was getting older and the limbs were beginning to get stiff.
“You don’t have any orange juice, do you?” Coen reached for the poker once again and stuck the curved tip into the burning embers. He added a log and tended to the fire until the flames were once again at an acceptable height. She had yet to answer him. Maybe he hadn’t handled things quite as well as he should have.
“I do,” Brettany replied softly, causing Coen to somewhat relax. He didn’t turn around to see if she was standing quite yet. She wasn’t going to make this hard on him, after all, and that was a start. “I can—”
Coen’s phone rang, but he realized he’d left it over by the couch. He stood, ignoring the loud crack coming from his knee. It was a reminder of his time in the service, but he was grateful to have it considering some of his brother-in-arms didn’t have such a benign souvenir.
“Your phone is almost out of battery.” Brettany had picked up his cell and was offering it to him, along with a temptation to stay for another hour or so. “The outlet in the kitchen has power. You’re more than welcome to use my charger, if you like.”
Brettany’s green eyes sparkled with innocence, yet her offer had been said with purpose. He didn’t have a generator across the street, which meant no power to use his own charger. Living under these conditions was a piece of cake. Hell, he’d camped out in the woods behind her house for close to three weeks without any electricity. His rental car had offered him everything he needed when she’d been at the school, but these cold temperatures could easily drain a battery in a matter of hours.
“Let me take this call, and then I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Coen would decide in a minute just how much longer he would stay here, though it would be smarter to brave the harsh elements than face the overwhelming temptation inside these four walls. He had trouble taking his eyes off her heart-shaped backside as she left the room. Yeah, freezing temperatures and a foot of snow would be preferable to the trouble he was heading for with this green-eyed woman filled with addictive sugar. “Flynn here.”
“I hear you’re stuck in the mountains with a beautiful woman.” Sawyer Madison paused, most likely taking a sip of the special coffee Calvert had shipped in from only God knows where. It was smooth and rich, unlike the shit Brody brewed in his office. “It’s going to be seventy-four degrees today in Sorrento with a light breeze from the west. I’m even thinking of breaking out my fishing pole and hitting the pond out back. They say there are some pretty good peacock bass out there.”
“Bite me, Sawyer.” Coen set the poker back in the stand, careful not to get soot on the bricks of the hearth. “The only thing you need to do is catch Moss. You’ve got enough on your plate just figuring that out. Speaking of which, I’m just waiting for this storm to pass so that I can get a flight back to Florida. Any new developments on your end?”
“Other than Calvert wanting to pull Shailyn Doyle out of WITSEC? Nah, not a thing.”
Coen took a moment to consider the ramifications of such an act. He couldn’t come up with one damned positive outcome from such a dangerous decision.
“Please tell me Calvert is only considering such an option because he feels Doyle is at risk in some manner that I’ve not been told about?”
“I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I can’t do that.”
“Just like you’re still withholding whatever it is Calvert has been keeping from the rest of us?” Coen always had been the one on the team to sit back, observe, and take notes. He’d come away from each debriefing with the certainty that Calvert wasn’t being as forthcoming as he could be with his role in Moss’ original takedown. “I won’t even address that issue. There’s nothing I can do about it right now anyway.”
“Brody told us a few minutes ago that Martin Eyles has been taken into custody,” Sawyer said, taking Coen’s advice and completely ignoring everything he’d said in regards to Calvert. “From the radar, it looks like you have at least another twelve to twenty-four hours before the snow lifts enough for you to get out. I’m sending you some articles, along with a title of a book, that was written about Moss during his incarceration. We think his ego might have been big enough at the time to reveal some personal aspects of his life before he was captured that could give us some indication of where he’s holed up.”
“Yeah, Brody mentioned that Moss had a live feed into that hotel room where Camryn was being held. It’s unfortunate that he couldn’t pinpoint Moss’ location before he terminated the feed.” Coen recalled something Calvert had revealed on the phone yesterday. “Are you still harassing Brody about his sister?”
The long pause on the other end of the line told Coen that every single word Calv
ert had uttered in their conversation had been the truth.
Son of a bitch.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Coen remembered the exact moment Sawyer had made the connection that Camryn Novak—a beautiful actress whose face was spread on almost every gossip rag—was actually Brody’s real honest to God sister. His friend had gotten a lot of mileage out of that spectacular find, but to literally go through with making good on some of those promises? “That’s just wrong, bro.”
“She’s a special woman, Coen.” The fact that Sawyer hadn’t taken the bait proved to Coen that his friend had indeed fallen for the woman. This was the shit that happens when he wasn’t around. “And I want Moss’ head on a pike for what he’s done to her.”
Movement in the doorway caught Coen’s attention. He looked that way to find Brettany holding a fresh glass of orange juice and wearing a concerned expression. She must have heard the tail end of his part of the conversation.
“And you’ll have that real soon,” Coen encouraged, figuring this case had to eventually end. The outcome might not be what they wanted, but this cat and mouse game couldn’t go on forever. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Go ahead and send those articles. It’ll give me something to do to pass the time while I wait out the storm.”
Brettany’s rosy lips thinned a bit at what she most likely considered an insult. He hadn’t intended for her to take it that way, but he had a job to do. And part of that job included keeping her out of Moss’ crosshairs.
“Has something happened that I should know about?”
“Not really,” Coen answered honestly, wishing he could tell her something different. He held up his phone as a reminder. “You mentioned I could use one of your chargers?”
“Sure.” Brettany traded items with him after he walked over to her. She then turned on one of the fuzzy socks she’d put on last night in an effort to keep warm. “The kitchen is a bit cold, but it’s not too bad considering.”
The change in temperature was quite noticeable. Another thing that was evident was the fact that Brettany seemed a bit lost as to what to do now that Eyles was in custody. That wasn’t surprising. Being on pins and needles for over seven days made it hard to shift things back to normal on the fly.
“I’m sorry that Heidi’s funeral has been postponed,” Coen said softly, wondering if that closure wouldn’t help Brettany out in the long run. “At least you can rest easy knowing Eyles is sitting in a jail cell awaiting his own fate.”
“It all seems so surreal, though.” Brettany had walked over to the refrigerator where she’d plugged in a charger in one of the outlets on the backsplash. She connected his phone to the cable before attempting to subdue a shiver. “I still can’t get over that Martin could commit such a crime.”
Coen recalled saying the same thing about his younger brother back in the day. Hell, he still found himself thinking that every time he received a phone call from home.
“If it’s one thing I’ve come to learn in life, it’s that people will always end up surprising you.” Coen came very close to sharing personal details with Brettany to make her feel better, but he stopped himself just in time. He didn’t feel like judging his brother today. “Okay. Let’s taste these famous cupcakes.”
“Famous?” Brettany couldn’t stop the bubbling of her laugh, which had been his intention. “Where did you get that idea from? Only the kids in my class and my parents seem to think they’re something special.”
“Oh, I have my ways of knowing these things,” Coen baited, already knowing she’d taken a bite. She was too curious not to know where he’d gotten his information. “Remember, I’ve been monitoring you for over a month. It’s amazing what a person can learn about someone else even from afar.”
“The bakeoff,” Brettany guessed correctly after having tilted her head back and closing her eyes to try and recall what had happened in the past four weeks where he could have known her baking had received a few accolades. “Were you there?”
“Of course I was.” Coen bit into the chocolate cupcake, instantly giving his taste buds a bit of heaven. He savored the sweet, sugary treat before chasing it down with a gulp of orange juice. This combination of breakfast had easily risen to the top of his favorites. “Where is your blue ribbon, anyway?”
“How could I not have seen you?” Brettany had totally ignored his question as she stepped forward and leaned her elbows on the counter in astonishment. Coen had taken a seat on one of the stools, his concentration taken up by the second half of his cupcake. “It was a school function to raise money for the afterschool programs.”
“I can blend in a crowd with the best of them. It’s almost like I’ve done this before.”
Coen licked his fingers and wiggled his eyebrows in triumph.
“This is so not fair,” Brettany complained, pushing against the counter with her palms. She threw an agitated look over her shoulder as she went about making her tea. “Who is Sawyer, by the way?”
Her question made Coen realize that she’d heard the majority of his conversation. He shrugged, figuring talking about his team was a hell of a lot safer than some of the topics they’d been covering.
“Sawyer Madison is one of my fellow teammates.” Coen decided one cupcake wasn’t enough, so he chose another and got to work on the paper baking cup. “Brody Novak is our technical guru, while Sawyer, Keane Sanderson, Royce Haverton, and myself round out the field agents. They’re mostly a good group of guys, though right now everyone is under quite a bit of stress.”
“What is it they want you to do while you’re waiting for the storm to pass?”
“Read through some old articles where the journalists interviewed Moss to see if he let something slip that could help us pinpoint his base of operations.”
Coen caught her glancing at his phone, most likely to see what the charge had grown to since she’d plugged it into one of the only working outlets. It reminded him that the rental house would be cold, have no electricity, and he’d be without decent food—including chocolate cupcakes, to be exact.
“Need some help with that?” Brettany asked quietly, her green eyes imploring him to take her up on her offer. He should say no. He should tell her goodbye and then go put on his boots and jacket. “I’m pretty good at reading papers and catching oddities that would escape a novice’s critical eye.”
Coen finished the second cupcake before draining the rest of his orange juice, giving himself more than enough time to talk some sense into his hard head. For some reason, all he could come up with was that it couldn’t hurt to give them something to occupy their time.
“Yeah,” Coen replied, already regretting his answer. He should have done the smart thing and walked out her front door. “I could use your help, Brettany.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‡
Brett couldn’t exactly say she’d been any help to Coen in his bid to read those articles. It was going on four o’clock in the afternoon, and they hadn’t even touched either of their phones, both of which were still charging in the kitchen.
“Go ahead and spread the salt while I finish up the driveway,” Coen called out from beneath his black facemask. His searching gaze was sweeping the area, which had become rather dark. It didn’t help that the street lamp had lost power last night, along with everything else, and that the snow had picked up once again. “Then go warm up in the house. There’s no need for both of us to be out here freezing our asses off.”
Despite the thick material of his mask, condensation from his words rose into the air giving the opening around his mouth a frosted look. He could talk all he wanted, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she was leaving him outside to fend for himself. The sight of Lester Koett’s frozen and half-buried vehicle stuck in her yard made her uneasy. It didn’t matter that Martin was in custody, because she was still thinking about why he’d come to see her to begin with. Had his intention been to hurt her?
“Brettany, go on inside! I’ll join you in a minute!”
; She shook her head in response and reached into the bag of salt she was carrying as Coen started up the snow blower with one pull of the black cord. They were both going to need showers after this exercise, but that was more than doable considering the hot water tank was connected to one of the good circuits still powered by the generator. She was grateful there was no need to worry about a lack of hot water and promised herself that she would scrounge up the money needed to replace the breakers she needed for the generator so that she could power up the entire house in an emergency.
It was hard to get her cold fingers to let go of the salt, even though she was wearing thick ski gloves. Her teeth had started chattering around fifteen minutes ago, but she would stay out here with him for as long as it took to get the job done.
As it was, it had taken close to an hour to clear the driveway on his rental home and another hour and a half to finish hers, though that was only because Brett had decided to heave a snowball his way. The short-lived battle, though fun while it lasted, had ended when the storm had picked up its pace. Mother Nature had let both of them know in no uncertain terms that there was more work to be done before they could both return to a blazing fire that would warm up their cold extremities.
The living room light in her neighbor’s house came to life, reminding Brett that the Dockerys had a full home generator. She was surprised to see them home, though. They usually spent each holiday with their daughter in Texas. She really thought they’d had an early enough flight to beat the storm, but that might have changed for some reason or another.
The sound of the snow blower’s engine receding told her that Coen had finished the bottom of the driveway. She made a mental note to take over some of those cupcakes to the Dockerys or maybe some of the soup she had planned to make for Coen and herself tonight. That was, if she could convince him to stay.
As for the Dockerys, they most likely had used up most of their perishables, thinking they wouldn’t be here for the duration of the storm. She always had plenty as she canned most of the fruits and vegetables she grew in the garden each summer. Considering she cooked from scratch, she also had a supply of staples to make nearly anything she wanted. The only restriction was the amount of fresh milk and eggs she had stocked up prior to the storm. Thankfully, she still had plenty.
Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five) Page 9