Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four Read online

  Once she got a look at the place and talked to some people, she’d have a better idea of what angle to take and where to dig deeper.

  She took a quick shower and applied a bit of light makeup. The scent of coffee and baked goods drew Bree downstairs, where she found Ms. McGillicuddy bustling around near the stove.

  “Ah, there you are,” the B & B owner greeted cheerily. “I was hoping you weren’t a late sleeper. I’ve got to get to Obermacher’s this morning before the best produce is picked through. What would you like in your omelet? Cheese, ham, onions, peppers?”

  “Just onions and peppers, please.”

  Martha narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You’re not one of those vegetarians, are you?”

  Bree smiled. “No.”

  “Good. I don’t trust people who don’t eat meat. It’s just not natural.” Satisfied, Martha pulled a massive green pepper from the fridge and began chopping with the skill and speed of a chef.

  Bree cringed at the huge dollop of butter Martha dropped into the pan. “Can I help?”

  “No, dear. You’re a guest.” Martha tilted her head toward the dining room. “Go on in and get started. I’ll bring your omelet out in a jiffy.”

  Bree entered the adjacent room, where a long table and six chairs commanded the space. A solid-wood hutch sat on the far side, displaying china behind beveled glass paneled doors. The matching buffet table appeared against the opposite wall.

  A coffee urn sat beside a tray of pastries, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a domed serving dish. When Bree lifted the lid, the savory aroma of smoked slab bacon mixed with that of the sweet, buttery Danishes and gave her a mini foodgasm. It seemed like overkill since she was the only guest, but she feared saying so might offend her hostess.

  She could practically feel her hips getting wider from the smell alone. Unable to completely resist—Martha had gone to such trouble after all—Bree selected a small pastry, a banana, and two pieces of bacon.

  After making herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the table and picked up a copy of the Sumneyville Times, grinning at the headline. The big news wasn’t crime or politics; it was the announcement that potbellied pig races would be part of the upcoming Sumneyville Community Days celebration. Inside, there was even a special insert with a schedule of events, including a car show, live bands, and a tractor pull.

  Bree sat back and sipped her coffee. Was there any place more wholesome? Going to the event and snapping some pics could be the perfect wrap-up to her article.

  Ms. McGillicuddy slid a plate in front of her, then sat down with her own cup of coffee, and selected a pastry for herself.

  “Thank you,” Bree said, refolding the paper and setting it to the side. “But please don’t feel the need to cook for me every morning. I’m used to just grabbing something quick.”

  Ms. McGillicuddy seemed insulted. “Nonsense! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and this is a bed-and-breakfast.”

  Bree took a bite of the omelet and almost moaned. She’d become so accustomed to using nonstick spray that she forgot just how much flavor butter added to a meal. “This is delicious.”

  “Glad you like it. So, did you get to do some of that exploring you were talking about last night?”

  “I did, yes.” Bree told her about her drive around town and her dinner at Franco’s.

  “Franco’s is good for Italian food,” Martha agreed, but the way she said it suggested that she didn’t think much of Italian food. “Do you have plans for today?”

  “Sanctuary’s granted me an interview, so I’ll be heading up there this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” Martha leaned forward in interest. “Are you going alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, dear?” Martha asked with a frown.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, the Sanctuary is primarily men and former military men at that. Men who have”—Martha lowered her voice—“issues.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Bree told her, slightly amused by Martha’s concern.

  Former military they might be, but based on her initial observations, they were also polite, respectful, and friendly.

  Martha pressed her lips together and said nothing more, frowning into her coffee cup.

  “I’d like to ask you some questions too,” Bree said.

  “Me? Why would you want to interview me? I haven’t done anything.”

  Bree was somewhat taken aback by Martha’s response. “I’d like your insight on the town. The people. What it’s like to live here. Things like that.”

  “Oh,” Martha said, but the furrow between her brow remained. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for that right now.”

  “Perhaps later then? After I get back?”

  “Yes, I suppose that would be all right.”

  “Excellent.”

  Sensing that Martha was anxious to be on her way, Bree finished off the delicious omelet and drained the last of her coffee, which wasn’t great but hot and caffeinated. When her offer to help clean up was waved off, she thanked Martha again and opted for her backup plan—visiting the town library. One could tell a lot about a town based on the state of its libraries, churches, and bars.

  Bree loaded up her small backpack with everything she’d need and set off for the library, choosing to walk instead of drive. It was another gorgeous summer day, and the six-block trek would help her burn off some of the high-calorie goodness she’d ingested.

  She’d traveled the same road the night before, but doing so on foot gave her a better opportunity to soak in and appreciate the centuries-old architecture and the uniqueness of each individual business.

  Shop owners were outside their places of business, wiping down display windows or sweeping the sidewalk. The curious looks she received were tempered with smiles and quiet good mornings. That took a bit of getting used to; Bree was more accustomed to strangers who didn’t meet the gazes of others or whose attention was pinned to a device in their hand.

  The library was located in an old stone building and boasted high ceilings and polished dark wood. Like the B & B, the library was exactly what she would have expected, as was the woman behind the large, circular desk. Old and slim and wearing a blouse buttoned up to the neck, she had luxurious snow-white hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. The nameplate on the desk read Agnes Miller, Head Librarian.

  Agnes looked up, peering over half-moon glasses when Bree’s soft footfalls stopped in front of the desk.

  “Good morning,” Bree greeted.

  “Good morning,” the woman answered in a whisper-soft voice. “What can we help you with today?”

  We? Bree looked around the empty library, confirming they were alone. “I’m looking for something on Sumneyville’s history.”

  Agnes’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re the reporter.”

  Reporter. Journalist. It was close enough. “I am.”

  The woman considered Bree over her glasses for several long moments. Her expression gave nothing away. Bree wondered if she’d been a schoolteacher at one point because she had that strict authority vibe going on.

  Finally, the woman said, “Follow me.”

  Bree did.

  The librarian directed her to sit at a long conference table. “Wait here, please.”

  Bree unpacked her bag, laying out her notebook and several colored pens. She preferred writing out her notes in shorthand to typing directly into her laptop. Doing so gave her time to think and consider and develop what she called the beats of a story, organizing them into various silos. Then, at the end of the day, she’d transcribe everything into her laptop.

  Agnes brought her several books. Over the course of the next several hours, Bree looked through them, jotting down notes on the original founders and the progression of local industry—from farming and logging to anthracite coal mining. Of particular interest were references to the places in the area that had been important stops along the Undergroun
d Railroad—a network of secret routes and safe houses in which African Americans could flee to the safety of free states and Canada—and some mine disasters, which were both horrific and fascinating.

  The morning flew by, and before Bree knew it, her phone vibrated on the table with a silent alarm, earning a disapproving look from Agnes Miller. Midway through an eyewitness account of the Paxton Mine collapse, she gathered her things and took two of the books to the front desk.

  “I don’t suppose these are available online.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Can I take them with me?” she asked.

  “You’ll need a library card.”

  “I’m only going to be in town for a few days.”

  “Rules are rules,” Agnes sternly informed her. “We can make you a temporary card, and you may check out the books, or the books will remain here, and you may return to view them during normal operating hours.”

  “In that case, I guess you’d better give me a temporary card.”

  By the time Bree left the library with her new card and books in hand, she was running late. She had barely enough time to get back to the B & B before she had to leave for the interview. She rounded the corner fast and plowed right into a local police officer.

  “Whoa there,” he said, bending down to help her pick up the books.

  About her age, he was good-looking in a boy-next-door sort of way.

  The man whistled as he looked at one of the books. “Uh-oh. Does Miss Agnes know about this?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smile.

  “I assure you, Officer”—she looked at his name badge pinned to his chest pocket—“Petraski, it’s all on the up-and-up. I’ve got a library card and everything,” Bree said, accepting the book.

  He laughed. “Glad to hear it. You must be that reporter everyone is talking about.”

  “Bree De Rossi. Word gets around fast, huh?”

  “Sure does. You’re here to do an article about Sanctuary?”

  “I am,” she confirmed. “In fact, I’m headed out there now.”

  A shadow passed over his features, gone as quickly as it had come. The officer touched his hat and inclined his head. “You have a good day, ma’am, and be careful.”

  Was that a veiled warning? “I will. Thank you.”

  The temperature had risen considerably since she’d left, or it felt as if it had. The humidity took a bit of getting used to after being in SoCal for a couple of years. She had just enough time to drop the books off at the B & B and freshen up. Bree was glad she’d opted to go light on the foundation that morning, requiring only a brief touch-up with some translucent powder and a swipe of gloss.

  Bree punched the address into her navigation app and committed the route to memory, just in case she lost cell reception again.

  The drive was gorgeous. The convertible handled the winding roads with ease, the powerful engine undeterred by the incline.

  She found the entrance to Sanctuary easily enough, and once she turned off the road, the view got even better. The long drive resembled a natural tunnel of sorts with the branches of large trees reaching across to each other and forming a canopy. Shafts of sunlight broke through in places, making her think of enchanted forests. She wondered what it would look like in other seasons, ablaze with color or frosted with glistening snow.

  The drive opened up to reveal the imposing building she’d seen on the website. As beautiful as those photos were, they didn’t do the place justice. She parked and took a moment to admire the stonework and the old-fashioned carriage lamps. Nothing about it suggested a facility for veterans.

  “Miss De Rossi?”

  The deep male voice startled her. The man who spoke, even more so. Tall and broad with shaggy chestnut-colored hair framing an angled, masculine face. Authority radiated from him in waves, as did a powerful military vibe.

  “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

  “Matt Winston. Welcome to Sanctuary.”

  Winston. The name rang a bell. She was certain she’d seen it in some of the books she’d skimmed, but she couldn’t remember exactly where.

  “Thank you, Mr. Winston.”

  “Please, come in.” His smile, like his demeanor, was polite but not what she would call friendly.

  Her initial assessment: the man was powerful, deadly, and not particularly pleased with her presence. She could see where some people would be intimidated by him.

  She straightened her shoulders and followed him inside. Topical chitchat wouldn’t work with him, so she kept her mouth closed and her eyes open, silently noting the decor and the general feel of the place. Simple and clean with an understated elegance, it was less garish than she would have guessed, based on the exterior.

  His office was neat and sparsely furnished, an eclectic mix of old and new. The large desk was definitely a working antique, looking as if it had been used for multiple generations. The ergonomic chair behind it and the sleek black tech on top were far more recent.

  Winston took a seat behind the desk and indicated she take one of the two chairs in front of it.

  “You’ve come a long way, Miss De Rossi.”

  “I go where I’m assigned, Mr. Winston. As a military man, I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “That I can. What is it you hope to accomplish here?”

  Right to the point. Straightforward. She liked that even if it did take some getting used to. “I’d like to learn more about Sanctuary.”

  “Why?”

  If he was going to be blunt, then so would she. “Because it sounds like you’re doing a good thing here, and people need to hear about good things these days.”

  Soulful golden-brown eyes stared at her intently. “If it’s just the program you’re interested in, we could have provided you with materials. You didn’t need to fly across the country for that.”

  “How did you know I flew cross-country?”

  “Educated guess. That’s where your office is, isn’t it?”

  His expression remained neutral; his voice conversational. Yet a tingle ran down the length of Bree’s spine.

  “You’ve done some research, I see.”

  A small smile ghosted over his lips. Bree added the adjectives intelligent, guarded, and protective to her mental notes on Matt Winston.

  He pushed a legal-sized manila envelope forward with two fingers across the desk. A brief check confirmed it held the materials he’d referred to, basically the same information she’d found online in paper format—mission statement, overview of the program, et cetera.

  “Some things can’t be accurately conveyed by words on paper. At its core, Sanctuary is about helping people—people who’ve made it a priority to serve and protect the citizens of this country. That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Winston. The human angle. The emotional aspect.”

  His brows creased slightly; the hint of a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. “Be that as it may, we respect and protect the privacy of those who come to us, Miss De Rossi. I can offer you a private tour with one of our senior staff, but I must ask that you refrain from taking pictures of our residents or include any personally identifying information in your article.”

  No pictures? That was disappointing, but she had a feeling if she didn’t agree to his terms, she wouldn’t get anything more, and she needed more than that to take back to Charlie. Besides, there was a lot more to Sanctuary than what was contained in that information packet. She could feel it.

  “Fair enough.”

  Winston stood, clearly signaling the end of their meeting. His eyes flicked to the door behind her. “Cage will provide you with whatever you might need.”

  Bree stood as well. “Cage?”

  “That would be me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Cage

  The look on her face was priceless. The way her eyes lit up at the sight of him, even better.

  “You! Third time’s a charm, right?” she said, echoing his words from the previous evening.

/>   Her lips curled into a slow, easy smile that he felt in his chest.

  “Right. Shall we start with a tour, Miss De Rossi?”

  “Bree, please. And sure.”

  He stood back and swept his arm in an after you gesture, sharing a glance with Church as she passed. He nodded, accepting Church’s silent command. The residents had already been warned, so as long as Cage stuck to the plan, everything would go smoothly.

  She removed a small leather notebook—the same one he’d seen the night before—and a pen. “Mind if I take notes?”

  “Not at all.” He wondered if Church had given her a no-tech rule or if she used one all the time. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask along with a desire to show her the slick device he had in his pocket, which allowed him to record audio, video, and translate text to speech. He decided against it. His task was to show her around, not try to impress her with tech only another geek could fully appreciate.

  “So, Cage, huh?” she asked with the hint of a smile. “Is that your first name or last?”

  “Neither. My name is Nick.”

  “Ah, Cage is a nickname. Why?”

  He grinned. “I could tell you, but ...”

  “Then you’d have to kill me?” she finished wryly.

  “No. It would ruin the mystery.”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped. “Do you have a preference? Nick or Cage?”

  “Either is fine.”

  She looked every bit as pretty as she had the first two times he saw her, but it was her self-confidence that he found particularly attractive. Whether stranded along the side of the road, eating dinner alone, or touring a facility owned and operated by former Navy SEALs, her attitude suggested she had everything under control.

  Cage walked her through some of the common areas inside the main building, such as the game room, the TV room, and the library—all of which had recently been renovated. Afterward, he took her into the dining room and the kitchen, where Kate was already busy with preparing the evening meal.

  “Welcome to Sanctuary,” Kate greeted with an easy smile. “I see Nick’s giving you the grand tour.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Cage did the introductions. “Bree, this is Kate, chef extraordinaire. She makes sure we’re all well fed. Kate, Bree De Rossi.”