Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four Page 3

  “A while,” she admitted. Cell phone reception was spotty, and she’d chosen to wait until the sun was up to walk away from the car in an attempt to get a signal. She was glad she had, too. Had she gone wandering around in the dark, she might have unintentionally discovered the sharp drop-off only a hundred yards to the east.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I can fix anything,” he told her with smug confidence. “The question is, whether or not the insurance adjusters will think it’s worth it. For now, I can tow it to my place in Pine Ridge, put it up on the lift, and get a better look at the damage.”

  “Pine Ridge.” She remembered seeing a sign not too far back, after she’d gotten off the turnpike and taken a series of increasingly smaller roads toward her final destination, well off the beaten path. At the time, she’d felt a sense of relief that her long and difficult journey was nearly over, but apparently, the universe had opted to get in one last shot.

  “I’m guessing the rental agency doesn’t have a local branch there, does it?”

  “You guess correctly. Nearest one is probably two hours away.”

  “Seriously? There’s no place to rent another car?”

  “Didn’t say that. I said that agency doesn’t have a local office. They’re only around major airports, and there aren’t any of those around here.”

  That, she knew. If Sumneyville wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere, she wouldn’t have had to tack a couple hours’ drive onto a cross-country flight fraught with delays and layovers.

  She was only going to be around for a few days, but a car was critical to doing what she had to do. “Do you do rentals?”

  “If you’re staying local, I’ve got loaners.”

  Did she take a chance with a local over a nationally recognized chain? Bree briefly considered her options and realized she didn’t have many. The guy spoke matter-of-factly, and her instincts said he was trustworthy. Seeing the wedding band on his left hand helped, though she supposed that could be part of an elaborate ruse meant to lull potential victims into a false sense of security.

  I really need to stop binge-watching those crime dramas and serial killer documentaries.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  He nodded brusquely. “Got the keys?”

  Bree fished them out of her pocket and tossed them over. He easily snatched them out of the air.

  “Give me a few minutes to get this hooked up. There’s a cooler with bottled water in the front seat if you’re thirsty. Help yourself.”

  She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until he’d said something. She gratefully accepted, draining a large bottle right away. She considered having a second but didn’t want to have to make another run into the bushes. Once was quite enough. She only hoped the leaves that had brushed her bottom in the process didn’t turn out to be poison ivy or oak.

  He made short work of hooking up the rental, and they were soon on their way. She’d expected a barrage of questions, but the big guy was the strong, silent type, and the ride into Pine Ridge was quiet. Rock music continued to play through the speakers, not blasting, but loud enough to discourage conversation.

  The first thing Bree noticed when they pulled up to his garage was the half-dozen classic muscle cars in various states of repair, parked along the side of the building. No small foreign models or fuel-efficient hybrids in sight.

  The second thing she noticed was the woman who came out from one of the garage bays to greet them, wearing coveralls and wiping her hands on a rag. Bree wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the fact that the woman appeared to be a mechanic or that she was strikingly beautiful. Dark hair was pinned haphazardly on top of her head; her nearly colorless eyes were framed by long, thick black lashes.

  The tow-truck driver greeted the woman by wrapping his big hand around her tiny waist, pulling her close, and giving her a brief but passionate kiss that left Bree breathless.

  “Take care of her, will you?” he said to the woman, nodding in Bree’s direction. “I’m going to pull the rental around back.”

  The dark-haired woman watched him walk away, her eyes gleaming with feminine appreciation and stark possessiveness. Bree had to admit, there was a lot to appreciate.

  “I’m Nicki,” the woman greeted with a friendly smile once the guy was out of sight. “Come on into the office, and we’ll take care of business.”

  Bree followed her inside. The office was neat and tidy and surprisingly clean. Nicki sat down behind the metal desk and indicated that Bree should take a seat, too.

  “Got a driver’s license and a copy of the rental agreement?”

  Bree produced both and handed them over. Her curiosity got the best of her. “You’re a mechanic?”

  “Among other things,” the woman answered with the hint of a cryptic smile.

  “I haven’t met many female mechanics.”

  Nicki looked down at the license she held in her hands. “You’re a long way from home, Gabriella.”

  “Yes, I am.” Bree smiled politely. “And it’s not been a great trip. How long do you think it will take to get a replacement rental?”

  “If you’re planning to stay in the area, we can give you a loaner,” Nicki explained, reiterating what the tow guy had told her earlier.

  “I’ll be in Sumneyville for the next few days.”

  “That’ll work. Business or pleasure?”

  “Business.”

  “What kind of business, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I work for the Sentinel Voice. I’m here to do a piece on Sanctuary. Do you know of it?”

  “I do,” Nicki confirmed.

  Bree waited for her to say something more about them, but she didn’t. Apparently, Nicki was immune to whatever made other people want to overshare.

  “What kind of car do you like to drive?”

  Bree thought of the cars she’d glimpsed when they pulled in and the curvy mountain roads she’d be traveling. “Got something a little sportier than an economy subcompact? Maybe a convertible?”

  Nicki’s smile was absolutely wicked. “How do you feel about American muscle?”

  Chapter Six

  Cage

  “Thoughts?” Church looked at each of those assembled in what they called the war room.

  The once-ballroom now functioned as their center of operations. It was where they discussed and planned and held impromptu meetings about things, such as renovation plans and the recent request for a public interview.

  Church’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but Cage sensed he wasn’t particularly crazy about the idea. Sanctuary was a private facility. As SEALs, they’d accomplished the majority of their missions quietly and efficiently and were handling Sanctuary the same way—without fanfare, without wanting or expecting recognition.

  “It could be good publicity,” mused Doc, though he didn’t sound stoked about the idea either.

  “Or it could rise up and bite us on the ass.” That was from Smoke, who avoided public interaction whenever possible.

  “Do we know anything about this ... what’s it called? Sentinel Voice?” Heff asked.

  “It’s legit,” Cage confirmed, tapping away on one of the many computers in the room and scrolling through the results. “National circulation, based on the West Coast. They appear to cover a variety of issues deemed politically significant as well as exposés and shit.”

  “So, what do they want with us?” Mad Dog wondered aloud. “How’d they even hear about us in the first place?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Doc said, rubbing the blond stubble on his chin. “What we’re doing here is important, but it’s hardly front-page news.”

  “Maybe they’re looking for a feel-good story,” Heff suggested. “Something to counteract all the bad news these days.”

  “I find it hard to believe someone is going to fly across the country to do some feel-good, vanilla piece,” Smoke said somberly. “They’re looking for stories, and I, for one, am not keen on
sharing mine. I doubt anyone else here is interested in sharing theirs either. This is supposed to be a safe space, remember?”

  Not a big talker by nature, Smoke’s string of consecutive sentences illustrated just how strongly he felt about the subject. Murmurs of agreement followed.

  “We don’t need the publicity,” Mad Dog added thoughtfully. “We’ve already got more applications than we can fulfill. At this rate, we’ll be adding another wing.”

  “Besides, if we do okay this thing, there’s the possibility that the interviewer is going to want to talk to some of the locals, too. Depending on who they tap, that might not be a good thing.”

  More nods and murmurs followed Heff’s statement. While they had the support of many of the people in Sumneyville, there were those who wanted to see Sanctuary fail and were undermining them by quietly casting doubts and suspicions on their true purpose. At first, it’d appeared to be only a select few, but after the kind of shunning both Sandy and Kate had experienced, they realized it was a growing problem. Some whispered rumors had even gone as far as suggesting they were nothing more than borderline psychos with lethal training.

  “Good point,” agreed Doc. He turned back to Church. “It sounds like we’re in agreement. Decline the interview. Cite respect for the privacy of the guests or some shit like that.”

  “It might not be that easy,” Church said, his lips pulling into a thin line. “I got a call from our friends in Pine Ridge. Sean Callaghan towed a rental that broke down on the back road between Pine Ridge and Sumneyville. A woman who told Nicki that she worked for the Sentinel Voice and was headed to Sanctuary.”

  Cage shifted, the image of a woman with glossy, dark curls and glittering eyes coming to mind.

  “She’s here?”” Heff asked, frowning.

  Church nodded. “Apparently.”

  “That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?” Doc asked. “Coming out here before we’ve even responded?”

  “She must have been on her way when she made the request through the website.”

  “It’s smart,” Heff said thoughtfully. “Probably figured it would be harder for us to say no that way.”

  “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

  “I bet she’s attractive, too.”

  “She is,” Cage said without thinking.

  As one, they turned narrowed eyes his way.

  It was Church who asked, “You’ve met her?”

  “Sort of.” Cage relayed his brief encounter with the woman on the way back from Ian’s. He stuck to the facts and didn’t mention just how attractive she was or how she’d been on his mind ever since.

  “What’s your read on her?” Doc asked.

  Cage carefully considered his next words. “I think we should do the interview.”

  They all frowned, except for Heff, who was looking at him far too intently for Cage’s liking.

  “She’s already in town,” Cage reasoned. “She’s not likely to leave empty-handed. If we don’t talk to her, someone else will. And if that happens, chances are, she’s not going to get an accurate picture of what we’re trying to accomplish here. It could, as Smoke said, come back to bite us in the ass.”

  “The best defense is a good offense,” Doc commented quietly.

  “Exactly. Invite her in, where we control the circumstances and the information. Give her the facts, make a good first impression. Then, if she does decide to interview some of the locals—”

  “Any aspersions they cast won’t take root as easily because we’ve already laid a solid foundation,” Doc finished, nodding.

  “Also,” Heff mused, “I have to believe the locals aren’t going to be very forthcoming. They’ve got their own piles of dirty laundry to worry about.”

  “All right then, let’s take a vote. Everyone on board?” Church asked. At the round of reluctant nods, Church looked directly at Cage and said, “She’ll be your responsibility.”

  “What? Why me?”

  “Because you’ve laid the groundwork with your knight-in-shining-armor routine,” Heff quipped. “Don’t you know? No good deed goes unpunished.”

  Doc clapped him on the back. “Come on, Cage. Man up and take one for the team.”

  Cage exhaled and tried to look put out, but inside, he felt a tingle of anticipation at seeing the pretty brunette again.

  Chapter Seven

  Bree

  The Sumneyville Bed-and-Breakfast was everything Bree had expected in a small-town B & B. Located a block off the main street, it was a two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch, flower boxes, and exterior trim that brought Norman Rockwell paintings and gingerbread houses to mind.

  The proprietor introduced herself as Martha McGillicuddy. She was a sturdy-looking woman, fortyish, with reddish-blonde hair and a friendly smile. Ms. McGillicuddy seemed hospitable enough, but there was no mistaking the curiosity—and wariness—burning brightly in her eyes.

  Bree’s initial assessment: Martha McGillicuddy was a busybody at heart, privy to many secrets, and a valuable resource if properly cultivated.

  However, when Bree saw the crystal candy dish on the credenza filled to overflowing, Bree decided Martha was also a kindred spirit. Not only were Squirrel Nut Zippers and Mary Janes in the mix, but also Root Beer Barrels, Peanut Chews, Bit-O-Honeys, and Caramel Creams. “Where did you get these? Did you special order them?”

  “Oh, heavens, no! I buy them in bulk at the farmers market. Highway robbery at ninety-nine cents a pound, but it is what it is.”

  Bree inhaled sharply. She paid five times that much for her stash, and that didn’t include the priority shipping. “Sounds like a place I’d like to visit. Where is that?”

  “Zeigler’s, on the edge of town. You probably passed it on your way in. Can’t miss it. Looks like a big warehouse from the outside. Most of the stalls are run by Amish and Mennonites though, so they’re only open on Saturdays.”

  Bree made a mental note to visit Zeigler’s on Saturday. She’d had heard of the Amish, but she’d never actually seen one. And Squirrel Nut Zippers for under a dollar a pound! For that price, she’d buy a new suitcase and fill it to take back with her.

  They proceeded into the quaint kitchen, painted in buttercup yellow with lacy white curtains and polished brass accents.

  “Would you care for some iced tea? I just picked up some fresh this morning. It’s peach season, you know.”

  Bree didn’t know, nor did she understand the correlation between iced tea and peaches, but it did sound refreshing. “I’d love some, thanks.”

  Martha indicated that Bree should sit at the kitchen table. Almost immediately, a tiny black-and-brown dog with a pink bow in her hair scampered into the kitchen and made a beeline for Bree.

  “Don’t mind Penny,” Martha told her. “She’s very nosy, but she’s harmless.”

  “She’s cute.”

  Martha beamed. “She knows it, too.”

  Martha poured them each a tall glass of translucent golden-colored tea while Penny sniffed at Bree’s shoes.

  Bree took a sip of tea and hummed in approval as the taste of ripe peaches exploded on her tongue. “This is delicious. I’ve never had peach tea before.”

  “Obermacher’s makes the best. They’re doing peach cider whoopie pies tomorrow. I’ll pick some up.”

  Whoopie pies?

  Before Bree could inquire as what a whoopie was, Martha sat down and asked, “You’re from California, you said?”

  Bree nodded. “Yes, I am. Just outside San Diego.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’re from California.”

  Bree laughed lightly. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. Her dark hair, dark eyes, and curvy figure didn’t match the Hollywood stereotype. “We’re not all blonde and blue-eyed surfer types.”

  The color rose in the older woman’s cheeks. “No, of course not.”

  Bree wondered if Martha had ever been out of the county, let alone traveled to the other
side of the country. Her knowledge of anything beyond her homogeneous little town probably came only from what she had seen on television.

  “But you’re very astute, Ms. McGillicuddy,” Bree continued. “California is my home now, but I’m originally from New York.”

  Martha nodded, appeased. “I thought so! I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. And please, call me Martha.”

  She paused and sipped her tea. Bree did the same, waiting patiently for the question she knew was imminent.

  “So, Gabriella—may I call you Gabriella? Or do you prefer Gabby?”

  “Bree, please.”

  “Bree. How lovely. What brings you to our humble town?”

  And there it is. “I’m here to do a piece on Sanctuary.”

  Had she not been watching so closely, she might have missed the sudden tensing of Martha’s neck and shoulders.

  “A piece, you say?”

  “Yes. I write for the Sentinel Voice. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” When Martha shook her head, Bree explained, “We publish stories we believe are in the national interest, and we have millions of digital subscribers all over the world, but our core subscribers are honest, hardworking citizens, like yourself.”

  “Oh.” Martha chewed on that for a moment. “If I may ask, why are you investigating Sanctuary?”

  Bree’s instincts flared. She noted the interesting choice of words and smiled benignly. “We heard about the work they’re doing with veterans and wanted to learn more.”

  “I see.” Martha’s gaze dropped to her glass.

  Bree could practically see the wheels turning, the questions burning on Martha’s lips, questions that Martha could not yet ask. They’d only just met, and Bree was an outsider. Sympathies had to be determined and some measure of trust established before she could share whatever it was swirling around in that head of hers.

  Bree allowed the silence to continue until it bordered on awkward, and then she gave Martha a slight nudge. Leaning forward, she asked softly, “Are you familiar with Sanctuary, Martha?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. Everyone in Sumneyville knows about them.”