Brett didn’t think to keep her hold on the Tupperware. He was halfway down her sidewalk before she realized her mistake.
“Coen, wait!” She quickly caught up with him, though his strides were rather wide. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Of course, you should have. Your safety is at risk. Nothing is more important than that. I understand.”
Coen was surveying their surroundings as they walked side by side, but she didn’t sense any danger. It could very well be that his presence alone gave her peace.
Mr. Koett’s vehicle had finally been removed. Fresh tire tracks and a rather large hole remained behind as a reminder that there would be no serenity until a killer was brought to justice.
“I’m sorry about Danny,” Brett responded softly, leaving well enough alone.
Her previous level of anger started to fade.
“Yeah, me too.” His regret was palpable. “Me, too. He’ll be going back to jail.”
She was grateful when Coen slowed his pace. There were still patches of ice where she hadn’t thrown enough salt. They continued to walk the short distance, but it was what she needed. She was more balanced now and had a better perspective of things after getting some fresh air.
“Where are you guys going?” Louise had chosen that moment to pull up in her bright red Kia Soul she’d received as a wedding gift from Chad. She was leaning out the window wearing her favorite purple crocheted hat that her mother had made. It wasn’t a surprise to see Chad pull up behind her in his Land Rover. Shouldn’t they both be at work? Brett’s curiosity was satisfied when Louise continued with an explanation. “We both took the day off to spend it with you. Did you know that Heidi’s funeral has been rescheduled for tomorrow?”
“Yes, I received a call from her mother this morning,” Brett replied as she swayed back and forth to keep her body heated. “Mrs. Connolly sounds like she’s holding up well, considering what’s happened with Martin and all.”
“Have you heard anything?” Louise shifted her SUV into park and then turned the key in her ignition. She held up a finger to have Brett hold off on answering while she rolled up the window. Opening the car door, she motioned for Chad to join them before addressing Coen. “Do you have any leads yet?”
“I’m afraid not. Listen, why don’t you and Chad go on into the house,” Coen instructed as he gestured toward her house. “Brettany shouldn’t be out here in the open standing around. We’ll be back in a minute.”
“I made some homemade soup for Mr. and Mrs. Dockery,” Brett explained, pressing her mittens to her cheeks. “I don’t think they made it out to visit their daughter before the storm hit.”
“Really?” Louise shared a questioning look with Chad.
“Are you sure about that?” Chad asked as he drew the zipper of his coat higher to protect his neck from the cold. “I handled the Dockerys’ itineraries. I’m almost positive they made their flight to Texas well before the storm closed the airports. Obviously, I haven’t been in the office since everything happened, but they would have called me if there had been a problem with the booking.”
“I know they’re home,” Brett insisted, looking over her shoulder at the Dockerys’ house. “I saw a light turn on in their living room the other night.”
“Listen, why don’t you go back to the house with Chad and Louise?” Coen stepped away from the group. “I’ll check on the Dockerys and be over in a minute.”
“I’m coming with you,” Brett insisted, taking the lead and not stopping until she was standing on the Dockerys’ sidewalk that led to their front porch. “The faster we do this, the sooner we’ll be back home.”
“Is there some soup left on the stove?” Louise called out as she walked backward, using Chad’s arm as a guide. “I’m starving!”
“Ask my mom to heat you up some,” Brett called out as Coen joined her. She had a little bit of guilt at not wanting Chad and Louise to visit this afternoon. As a matter of fact, she didn’t want her mom and dad underfoot either. “I’m going to send my parents home. The duration of this investigation could take a while. There’s no need to have them here constantly underfoot.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Coen didn’t follow up with why he’d come to that conclusion, but it was easy to figure out. For some reason, being outside in the crisp, fresh air had given her a renewed sense of self. She was smiling at his reluctance to be alone with her as she set her boot on the first wooden step of the front porch, though her good humor was quickly wiped away when she slipped.
“Careful,” Coen muttered in concern. She quickly realized that it wasn’t because she’d lost her balance. Even through the thickness of her jacket, she could still feel the tightening of his grip. “I’m thinking Chad might be right about the Dockerys making their flight.”
Brett stared in confusion at three rolled newspapers wrapped in plastic. Three days had passed since Todd or Sylvia Dockery had stepped outside. Bobby, the fifteen-year-old down the street, always cleared her neighbor’s sidewalk and porch when it snowed, but Mr. Dockery would never go a day without reading the sports page.
“I want you to go back to the house like nothing is wrong. Now.” Coen slowly drew the zipper down on his jacket. “Call 911 and have them send the sheriff here immediately.”
“We don’t know that anything is wrong.” Brett didn’t think it was a good idea for Coen to search the property without backup, especially given the fact that Martin had been killed in a guarded jail cell. She searched the windows for any sign of life. “I know they’re home, Coen. I saw the living room light come on the night we first cleared my driveway. I know I did. They had electricity, too, because I remember hearing the generator humming near the side of their house.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll be the one to give them the soup you made them.” Coen shifted his body so that Brett couldn’t try to go up the porch stairs. He gave her a small smile of encouragement. “I promise to give you credit.”
“I can do that personally,” Brett insisted, refusing to leave him alone. He had to be overreacting. “It’s just newspapers, Coen. All that means is that they might have caught a flight out yesterday morning, the same as you.”
“Then why is there an undisturbed line of snow along the bottom of the garage door?” Coen’s cheeks were now tinged red, but that didn’t stop him from lowering the zipper on his jacket even farther. Her stomach fell a little at the realization that he wanted easy access to his weapon. “For once, just do as I ask, Brettany.”
*
Martin Eyles had been going to plead his innocence. Would the police have believed his claim? It was best to eliminate any threat, and he’d done so rather efficiently.
His only concern now was Brettany Lambert.
She was once again surrounded by officers and the infamous Coen Flynn.
She was seemingly impervious.
Only she wasn’t quite as untouchable as she thought…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‡
Coen silently observed Brettany make her way back to her house. She was careful with where she stepped and eventually made it safely inside, although not without looking back at him with a worried expression a few times.
Either way, her absence allowed him to search the Dockerys’ property without concern for her welfare or exposing her to any unpleasant results. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Simone had stepped out on her front porch, using the same ruse he’d used when monitoring his target—she had lit up a cigarette and was feigning interest in her phone. She was prepared to step up should he need her help.
Coen lifted his left hand and signaled that he wanted her at the house with Brettany. Regardless that she was surrounded by friends and family, he didn’t want to leave her alone without proper armed protection.
Brettany was the only one other than the sheriff’s deputies who was aware of Simone’s true identity. There was no need to publicize that Brettany had twenty
-four-hour protection, and she’d agreed to keep it confidential. It was bad enough that SSI’s involvement had been outed with Martin’s murder. The headline in the local papers was bound to be picked up by the county news and probably even wider than that, so the best thing they could do at this point was to have an ace in their back pocket. As it stood, he wasn’t worried about Simone coming up with an excuse to visit Brettany.
Coen studied the undisturbed line of snow against the door. The older couple could easily be inside their home eating lunch. They might have decided not to read the paper in favor of watching the news. There could be a ton of excuses as to why they hadn’t ventured outside.
But it was always better to be safe than sorry. Someone had turned on that light, or the Dockerys might simply have used a timer to deter any attempts of a burglary while they were out of town.
Coen cautiously took the three wooden steps of the porch that led him to the front door. He couldn’t get a good look inside. There was a heavy drape covering the window. It wasn’t like he had cause to break in, so he reached out and rang the doorbell.
The muffled chime could easily be heard, but nothing else emanated from inside the house. He didn’t hear voices or footsteps, and a few minutes passed before he acknowledged the Dockerys weren’t coming to the door.
“Son of a bitch,” Coen muttered underneath his breath, knowing full well he’d have to walk around the perimeter. His cheeks had gone numb, his nose had lost feeling a while ago, and now his jeans were about to get soaking wet from the eighteen inches of snow that he now had to track through which covered what was probably a beautiful yard. Too bad he couldn’t see it. “I should have let Simone handle this and joined Brettany for lunch.”
Coen considered his own proposition for maybe three seconds before deciding it would be easier to inspect the property himself. It didn’t take him long to walk to the edge of the porch and step down, the first layer of snow having turned to ice. It wasn’t enough to hold his weight, but it was compacted sufficiently that it allowed him to maneuver easier than he’d anticipated.
The east side of the house was untouched. He wasn’t surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary. Moss was too intelligent to turn a light on at night for all to see in a home that was supposed to be empty. Coen believed Brettany saw something, or else he wouldn’t be traipsing through a foot and a half of snow. The only oddity he couldn’t figure out was why the Dockerys wouldn’t have retrieved their papers or driven to the store at some point in time.
Coen cleared the back of the house, noting that the deck had an enormous amount of snow built up on the wooden planks. Bobby most likely only got paid to do the front, though the Dockerys should consider having him shovel off the surface of their patio. It wasn’t good to leave the moisture trapped against the lumber, even if it was treated. There were no tracks, footprints, or any sign that someone had tried to gain entry through the back of the house.
“Flynn? Are you back here?”
Sheriff Whitney came around the corner, following Coen’s path so that the pants of his uniform didn’t get too wet with snow. His jacket was thick around the middle where it covered his utility belt. He wore gloves to keep his hands warm, but the wide-brimmed hat left his ears exposed. They were already red at the tips.
“I’ve found nothing to indicate someone broke into the Dockerys’ home.” Coen gestured toward the back deck. “No one has been back here since the storm hit.”
“That’s because Todd and Sylvia are in Texas,” Sheriff Whitney confirmed as he came to stand next to Coen. He nudged his hat up so that the brim wasn’t obstructing his view. “I had Chad call his office to confirm. Look, Brett has been under a lot of stress lately. Whatever she saw could easily have been a glint of light off the window or maybe a light on a timer.”
Coen didn’t like that the sheriff had automatically determined that Brettany had made a mistake. She wasn’t prone to panic and had handled herself like a true champ throughout this investigation. The sheriff’s assumption made Coen realize that he’d been treating her with kid gloves himself. She hadn’t been wrong in her belief that he’d been withholding details of the investigation. In his defense, he was only trying to protect her.
“If Brettany says she saw a light come on in this house the other night, she did.” Coen continued to slog through the thick snow. The denim of his jeans had started to soak in the freezing snow, and his shins were now numb. This shit was getting old. “That’s more than enough probable cause to enter the premises.”
Coen figured he was stretching that assumption, but it would still hold up in the court of law. With the way these neighbors relied on one another, it wouldn’t surprise him if the Dockerys had given a neighbor their house key.
“Do you know if the Dockerys have someone watering their plants? Maybe a family member or a neighbor who would have a key to their residence?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“With the direction this investigation has taken, it’s better we cover all our—” Coen broke off his justification as to why they shouldn’t leave this thread unraveled. They no longer needed to use Brettany’s statement as probable cause. “Sheriff, you’re going to want to call this in.”
Coen would have missed the fact that the basement window was missing a corner out of the glass pane had he not been specifically looking for an entry point. The window was situated inside a square trench, most likely surrounded by wood. There was too much snow to make any other details out with the exception of half the glass pane. The heat from inside the house had prevented the build-up of too much snow to cover the basement window.
“Wilcott Station, this is Sheriff Whitney. 10-18, 10-40. I need additional deputies to respond to a probable 10-62 at the Dockery residence.” The sheriff spoke quietly into the mic of his radio attached to his uniform just underneath the collar of his jacket. Coen already had his cell phone against his ear, telling Calvert to get his ass over to Brettany’s house immediately. It was the quickest exchange either of them had ever conducted. “Do you think the perp is still inside?”
“We’re about to find out,” Coen replied grimly, weighing their options. Two of them could technically cover the perimeter until backup arrived, but they were dealing with a highly intelligent psychopath who has managed to stay one step ahead of them this entire investigation. “The snow hasn’t been disturbed, which means whoever was inside is either still in there or left through the front door without messing up that line of snow.”
“If the perp left through the front, he wouldn’t have had the ability to lock the door behind him unless he had keys.” Coen made a decision. “Stay here. I want the back covered in case whoever maybe still in there decides to make a run for it.”
Coen didn’t wait to hear the sheriff’s objections. They had already wasted enough time. For all they knew, Moss’ surrogate could currently be inside torturing a woman to death and had been doing so since the Dockerys were supposed to have left town. Had he turned the light on out of necessity? Or had he done so with the purpose of luring Brettany next door?
Coen ignored the cold, the wind, and the snow as he quickly made his way to the front of the house. He checked his weapon for a chambered round and to confirm the bolt was seated. He figured Calvert and the rest of the team were only minutes away. Should things go sideways, it wouldn’t be long before his support arrived to finish what he’d started.
A quick glance toward Brettany’s house as he made his way onto the Dockerys’ porch told him all was quiet. He was grateful he’d sent Simone over there for additional security. Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew his small LED flashlight. He palmed the light and checked the cold doorknob with the same hand.
Damn if the door wasn’t unlocked. Coen quietly pushed the entrance open until he had a view of the inside. He wasn’t about to enter the house blind to what was in front of him. The Dockerys house did not have the same layout as Brettany’s home. The foyer was larger, contai
ning a double door closet on the left. The living room was on the right, but there was no one in sight as he used the light to search what was visible from the doorway.
He cautiously stepped forward, holding his weapon at the ready and his left out in front of him with the light should he need to deflect a blow. He quickly and efficiently cleared the main level before making his way up the stairs. The three bedrooms remained untouched, as well as the two bathrooms.
Coen wasn’t surprised to find Sawyer waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. They fell into sync and moved in formation until they had the basement stairs covered on either side. A quick hand signal had Sawyer wrapping his fingers around the metal knob and turning it as soundlessly as possible. The faint click carrying through the still air had both of them wincing as they waited for the consequences from below.
Nothing.
Coen nodded for Sawyer to pull the door open so that he could step through, bracing himself for what he would find on the other side. Darkness greeted him below as his small light only cut a beam’s width to the foot of the stairs. He quickly reached out for the switch on the wall, flicking it upward so that the stairwell lit up and allowed him to see who or what was awaiting him below.
Nothing.
He slowly descended, cautiously regarding the insignificant view he had of the basement. The layout gave anyone hiding in the shadows around the corner the upper hand. The temperature in the basement was colder and became even more so with each step down.
Sawyer was close behind. The two of them hit the cement and fanned out, each taking a side. Coen used his arm to move a rather large cobweb out of the way, his focus on who or what was underneath the stairs.
“Clear.”
Coen lowered his weapon and studied the area where shattered glass lay underneath the broken window.
“The house is clear, Sheriff,” Coen called out, knowing the man could hear him just outside the window. He holstered his weapon and followed Sawyer back up the stairs to where Calvert and Royce were walking in the front door. “Spread out and see what we can find. If it was one of Moss’ guys who was here, chances are he would have left some type of calling card.”
Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five) Page 15