Brutal Obsession (The Safeguard Series, Book One) (3 page)

The deep colors of the naturally aged oak matched the main house. Speaking of which, the place had to be north of six thousand square feet, not including the attached four door garage.

There appeared to be quarters over the garage from the look of the dormers, which should be letting in plenty of light. Defending the grounds in a firefight would prove to be easy and it left Keane wondering if that had been a consideration in planning the layout. The massive oak logs could stop a .50 caliber round if they had to. Somebody had put some money into this venture and he was beginning to second-guess his initial impressions of his new employer.

The double doors opening into one of the garage bays were standing wide open and a custom painted silver 2002 VRSC V-Rod Harley Davidson could be seen inside, challenging the apparent tranquil lifestyle created here. Keane could hear the ratcheting brass notes of Wagner’s classical
Ride of the Valkyries
drifting from inside after he’d shut off his engine. It was then that Keane caught sight of the contradicting man himself.

Townes Calvert.

Owner and operator of Safeguard Security & Investigations (SSI).

A retired Gunnery Sergeant for the United States Marines.

Keane only had the pleasure of meeting the man once in California when they’d met up for drinks. Calvert had a rough edge to him, but so did a lot of men in this business. He’d presented himself well, wearing khakis and a buttoned down shirt with pressed creases in all the right places. Still, Calvert appeared to buck the system with his long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, which did have a black eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo inked into his tanned skin.

The broken nose added character to Calvert’s face, although Keane doubted the women thought him too attractive. He looked as if he’d spent a few rounds in the ring with Muhammad Ali while in his prime.

Regardless, the man had a reputation of being solid and the opportunity to work for him came highly recommended by a couple of Keane’s old contacts from his military days. This was the change he’d been looking for…a calmer life, more cerebral cases, and leisure time to kick back after having photographed a cheating celebrity husband or two.

There was a black Jeep Wrangler parked off to the left of the outbuilding he’d passed on the driveway up to the main house, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Keane opened the door to his car and stepped out into the damp, humid air that contained the distinctive scent of ozone from the approaching lightning storm. It wouldn’t be long before the rain hit and the fireworks began, but he still had enough time to make it through the wooden double doors.

Townes had mentioned this was an informal meeting, so Keane had dressed casual in a pair of khaki dress slacks and a light blue pullover, short-sleeved shirt he favored when golfing with the guys. He palmed the keys to the rental as he observed his surroundings, taking note of all the surveillance equipment as he continued walking.

Granted, the cameras were obscure enough to the untrained eye, but there was no likely avenue of approach to this property without being seen. Okay, so Calvert was a private man. Keane tried to shrug off the feeling that this job was anything other than what it had been presented to be.

“Keane, come on in before the storm hits,” Townes called out, his deep voice barely carrying over the classical music drifting out of the Bose speakers overhead. The raspy tone made it sound as if Calvert had been punched in the throat one too many times.

Keane didn’t have to shield his eyes from the sun since the cloud coverage had become thick with a storm veil. The Harley currently positioned near the entrance had quite a few missing parts, but that wasn’t what caught him off guard. It was the appearance of Townes Calvert that gave him pause.

The man was wearing a pair of ripped jeans and an oil-stained dark blue T-shirt with a Bourbon Street Harley Davidson logo over the left pocket. His long hair was somewhat contained at the base of his neck, though a couple of long dark strands hung down the side of his left cheek—the same area where a two-inch scar traveled the length of his jawline and where the tattoo on his neck was now clearly visible.

There was a silver chain attached from Calvert’s belt to what Keane assumed was the man’s wallet. A vest hung off of a stool with multiple colorful badges, indicating he was a patched member to a 1% MC. He certainly looked the part at the moment, minus the classical music.

“Have any trouble finding the place?” Townes asked, wiping his fingers off on a discolored rag before offering his hand. Keane didn’t hesitate to return the handshake and flashed a smile.

“Not at all,” Keane replied, liking this side of Calvert. This was a man who would invite his team over for a game on a Sunday afternoon, cook up a mean ribeye steak, and have a beer or two. He would have rubbed his hands together at the thought of his life finally coming together, but he refrained. “You ride. I used to own a softtail around six years ago, but life got in the way of allowing me time to enjoy it.”

Keane took in the layout of the garage, impressed with the wooden cabinetry and matching shelves. Every imaginable tool and mechanic’s equipment item was on hand for Calvert’s use to do his own maintenance.

What was curious was the back of the large wooden structure. It appeared to be cordoned off with sheets of opaque plastic hanging from the ceiling and was currently under construction. The smell of the musty air had been replaced with grease and the unmistaken odor of copper wires being heated.

“This might be your chance to get that relatively small peace of mind back,” Townes offered with what seemed to be a tone mixed with regret. He pointed over to a workbench before reaching for a small rolling chair. He compressed it with his weight, but the seat held up rather well under the man’s solid frame. “Unfortunately, you might need to wait a month or two. Your first case came in faster than I’d anticipated.”

Keane raised an eyebrow in question, wondering why he was being given the first case instead of the other four hires. Townes had shared with him that SSI would have a total of five men employed under his leadership. He’d oversee the investigations, but he wouldn’t necessarily micromanage them if the guys maintained a handle on their business. He’d mentioned he was done being active in the field. He was merely a support role. Keane found that hard to believe.

“What shoe-shining wannabe drove up in that fuel-injected POS?”

Keane had picked up the file, surprisingly without a mark on it to blemish the cover, when a familiar voice called out from the back end of the building that had caught his attention earlier. There wasn’t a chance in hell the man walking toward Keane wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, leather sandals, and sunglasses atop of his head was Brody Novak…but damned if it wasn’t.

“One who has a limited budget,” Keane countered with a smile, lifting an arm up and grasping Brody’s hand. “How long has it been, man?”

“Too long,” Brody replied, pulling away and pretending to look Keane over. “You sure as hell haven’t changed. You realize that you’ll have to get rid of those penny loafers if you want to live in the Sunshine State.”

Keane laughed and shook his head, his fashion style having always been something the guys in his old unit gave him constant shit about. He had thick skin and dished out his fair share of horseshit to make it even. Brody had been with Keane on his last deployment to Afghanistan, in charge of the electronic communication systems the unit relied on.

“Sanderson is dressed just fine for his flight to D.C. later this afternoon,” Townes reassured them as he continued to work on his V-Rod. He gestured toward the file in Keane’s hand just as thunder rumbled above and the skies opened up outside the entrance. He didn’t know those natural occurrences should have been perceived as an omen until he opened the file. “A friend of a friend is in need of some protection, leatherneck.”

Keane stared at the black and white photograph of the one woman who’d ever had the ability and opportunity to actually slice a relatively deep wound on his soul. He wanted to close the folder and go back to when Brody had recently joined them, maybe talk about old times or catch up with what they’d been doing for these last six years.

But this…this picture in front of him was the last thing he’d expected to set his eyes on after driving up such a tranquil private drive. It represented nothing but a thinly veiled illusion of the life he’d come to want but been denied.

“I know I’m probably not starting out on the right foot by saying this,” Keane said after clearing his throat, “but I think Brody should take this one. Or one of the other three hires on your payroll.”

“D.C.?” Brody inquired with interest. “I could—”

“I don’t need to spell out the reason I chose you for this assignment.” Townes continued working on his bike as if they were talking about what saddlebag would look better. Calvert sighed in resignation when Keane didn’t respond and reached for the dirty rag he’d had earlier. He rolled back far enough to rest his right shoulder against the wooden shelf behind him. “Keane, Ashlyn Ellis has a rather important job that she can’t just walk away from. I could send any one of the team members up there, but there’s only one she’ll truly trust to see that she’s safe and you’re well aware of that. I know there’s some bad blood between the two of you, but she’s seen up close and personal the lengths you’d go to in order to protect your charge.”

“Ashlyn Ellis…as in the federal prosecutor who’s in the papers concerning some threats that were made against her?” Brody whistled in disbelief and took a step back, as if saying he wanted nothing to do with their first assignment. Well, neither did Keane, but it didn’t look as if he were being given a choice. “I’d probably be better suited back here at headquarters researching some other bullshit.”

“Headquarters?” Keane asked, grateful for something else to focus on instead of what was in his hand. He closed the file, not wanting to stare at Ashlyn’s beautiful features any longer. He’d had that privilege in person and no longer needed a reminder of what could have been. “I thought we were going to be located somewhere in the city.”

Calvert’s land and residence was located in Sorrento, roughly thirty miles from downtown Orlando. Keane had already lined up a condo in the city and had been going to put down a deposit on the rental later this afternoon. It seemed as if that would have to take place later, although not if Keane was able to explain his plight.

“We’re only here temporarily,” Townes offered, still watching Keane’s reactions through hooded eyes. “Brody has set up a network of servers in the back. I need him here. As for Coen, Royce, and Sawyer, they aren’t due here for another week. That leaves you, buddy boy.”

It didn’t just
leave
Keane. The moment Calvert had taken this assignment, regardless that it was for a friend of a friend, he’d known of Keane and Ashlyn’s previous relationship. Just how in-depth had his background check run? He didn’t have anything to hide, but he certainly had his boundaries when it came to his private life.

“As for Federal Prosecutor Ashlyn Ellis,” Calvert explained, regardless that Keane didn’t want to hear it, “there hasn’t been a specific threat to her life. Someone has been watching her very closely for the last few months and took things a little too far when the perp decided to enter her personal space. He or she was also monitoring the federal prosecutor in her own home through a breach in her security system, as well as her personal computer. Brody will be looking for this person’s digital thumbprint, although that service is being provided complimentary. As I said, we aren’t technically investigating this case. We’re just providing Ashlyn Ellis with private security protection.”

Calvert had said that last statement as if he thought Keane would want to dig deeper into the case he’d just been given, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t want anything to do with it. He shared a look with Brody, who appeared at a loss as to what Keane’s contention was with this assignment. He wouldn’t know, considering his relationship with Ashlyn had occurred after his time with the Corps. Keane shook his head in warning, altering Brody that he really didn’t want to know what was taking place.

The rain hadn’t let up, and if anything, the elements outside the hulking maintenance bay had only gotten worse. Another round of lightning streaked across the sky, closely followed by a rumbling roll of thunder. Keane was envious of the storm’s ability to let loose its rage. His was currently coiled inside of his chest, replacing the sense of freedom he’d had earlier.

“Is there anything else I need to know about SSI that you’re currently keeping me in the dark about?” Keane asked, an edge to his tone that had Brody rocking back on the edge of his sandals. Every one of them at SSI had been hired for a reason. Calvert was well aware he was dealing with the best of the best, because he’d been the one to seek them out. Keane wouldn’t apologize for being justifiably angry. “I’m beginning to think there ought to be a thirty-day probationary period to our contract.”

Calvert threw his head back and barked out a laugh of what sounded like respect. He stood, grabbing a few of things that had been positioned on the shelf behind him and walked over to where Keane was standing, the two of them as different as night and day.

“You’ll fit right in here, Sanderson.” Townes was holding out a phone that didn’t resemble any retail cellular device Keane had ever seen, along with a small black wallet and a bag. “Try to represent the firm in a professional manner and register your carry weapon with the local authorities upon your arrival in D.C. Call me if there’s any trouble you can’t handle.”

‡