Brutal Obsession (The Safeguard Series, Book One) Read Free Page B

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