Shadow of Doubt

by Abbie Zanders

  Shadow of Doubt

  Sanctuary, Book 3

  Abbie Zanders

  Copyright © 2020 by Abbie Zanders

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at https://abbiezandersromance.com

  Cover Designer: Abbie Zanders

  Cover Photographer: Eric McKinney / 6:12 Photography

  Cover Model: Frank C

  Editor: Trenda London, It’s Your Story Content Editing

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading Shadow of Doubt

  About the Author

  Also by Abbie Zanders

  Chapter One

  Mad Dog

  “Merry Christmas,” Hugh “Heff” Bradley greeted when he joined the rest of the team in the war room around noon.

  Once a large ballroom when the place had been an upscale resort, it was now where they did the majority of their information-sharing and strategizing.

  Brian “Mad Dog” Sheppard looked up from the blueprints he’d spread out and dutifully offered, a “Merry Christmas” in return.

  The others—Matt “Church” Winston, Nick “Cage” Fumanti, Cole “Doc” Watson, and Steve “Smoke” Tannen—did the same. If it wasn’t for the decorations Smoke’s woman, Sam, had put up around the place, they probably wouldn’t have even known it was a holiday. For most of them, it was just another day.

  “How’s Sandy?” Church asked Heff.

  “Good. She’s sleeping in.”

  “I’d say she’s earned it.”

  That was an understatement. The day before, a disgruntled yokel had broken into Heff’s cabin on the property and started shooting up the place. Heff wasn’t there at the time, but his woman, Sandy, was. Thankfully, Sandy hadn’t been hurt, but she was pretty shaken up.

  The rest of them were pissed that a no-good POS like Dwayne Freed had come on to their land with the intent of hurting one of their own. Sure, they were technically civilians now, but once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

  Heff grimaced at the reminder and poured himself a mug of coffee from the carafe Sam kept refilling. “Speaking of, where is the fucker?”

  “In the hospital,” Church replied with grim satisfaction. “He won’t be going anywhere for a while. Sandy put quite a dent in his face.”

  “She swung that lid like a major leaguer,” Smoke said with approval, having witnessed the smackdown through the bathroom window while attempting an extraction. “Freed didn’t stand a chance.”

  They all chuckled with the exception of Heff, who looked murderous and ready to do some damage. They weren’t making light of what had gone down, but it was quite a visual. According to Smoke, Sandy had taken the attacker out with the lid of the toilet tank. Heff’s woman was fierce.

  “She shouldn’t have had to do that,” Heff growled.

  “No,” Church agreed, looking somber. “But I don’t think we have to worry about a repeat. We scouted the entire southern perimeter, and it looks like Freed acted alone. No tracks besides his, though it’s still not clear how he managed to get so close without us knowing.” He scowled. “I had a come-to-Jesus talk with his daddy this morning.”

  Dwayne Freed was not only the village idiot; he was also the ne’er-do-well son of the local chief of police, Daryl Freed. For some reason, the Freeds had a grudge against Church, some personal shit that had started way back when, well before Sanctuary was a thing, and it was still going strong. Church hadn’t shared the details behind it. They didn’t care. They supported Church one hundred and ten percent and believed that if they needed to know, Church would tell them.

  Heff leaned back against a table and sipped his coffee. “I bet Daryl’s not too happy.”

  “He’s not,” Church confirmed.

  “I wouldn’t be either,” Mad Dog chimed in. “Kind of embarrassing when the police chief’s son goes off the rails and gets beaten down by a half-naked woman wielding porcelain.”

  Heff’s lips quirked. As worried as he was for Sandy, he was pretty damn proud of her, too. They all were.

  “Freed’s pride took another major blow.” That was from their intel man, Cage.

  Yesterday’s incident wasn’t the first time the police chief had come out of a situation looking less than stellar. Those previous times had involved them in one form or another as well, which didn’t do much to improve relations with some of the Sumneyville town locals. They didn’t like being shown up by “outsiders.” It didn’t matter that Church had been born and raised there or that his family had been a staple of the community for centuries. The rest of them hadn’t.

  Mad Dog grunted. “He’s damn lucky Sandy got to him before Heff.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. They were trained SEALs, fully capable of capturing, subduing, and disarming a threat without loss of life, but Heff would have carried out the task with extreme prejudice. Daryl wouldn’t have been visiting his son in the hospital this morning; he would have been making arrangements at the local funeral home—if Dwayne’s body had ever been found, that was.

  “This isn’t going to help relations with the locals any,” Cage commented.

  “No,” Church agreed on an exhale.

  Mad Dog felt for the guy. He’d lost his entire family in a tragic fire while he was serving his country, and now, he—they were trying to turn the charred remains of his legacy into a place where returning vets could adjust and acclimate back into civilian life. It was a good thing that they were doing, but there were some in the nearby town of Sumneyville who would prefer they did it somewhere else.

  From what Mad Dog knew of Chief Freed, he’d twist the facts surrounding yesterday’s “incident” and use them as proof that they were a dangerous lot. They were but only to those who posed a threat to them or to those they cared about.

  “Not everyone is against you, you know,” Sam said, entering the room. Like Church, she’d grown up in the area. “There’s plenty of local support, too. They’re just quiete
r about it. Daryl Freed and his brother-in-law are bullies. Even worse, they’re bullies in positions of power. People know if they speak up, the police and fire departments might not be as quick to respond if and when needed.”

  Doc shook his head. “That’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not,” Sam agreed, “but it is the way small-town politics work. Now, enough about them. It’s Christmas, and a special holiday feast awaits in the dining room.”

  She didn’t have to tell them twice. Delicious aromas had been drifting out of the kitchen all morning, making their mouths water and their stomachs grumble.

  Church nodded. “You heard the woman. Let’s eat.”

  ~ * ~

  Two weeks later, Sam’s words about local support were still going through Mad Dog’s head as he drove down into Sumneyville. He wanted to believe she was right. That there were those in town who supported what they were doing. Sandy had backed her up on that, citing the staff at Franco’s—the restaurant they’d frequented often—as an example.

  That might have been true initially, but he wasn’t sure that was still the case. Sam and Sandy were locals, but they were now out of the townie loop. Sam had been staying at Sanctuary for months, and with the kitchen and dining room now open, the guys weren’t heading to Franco’s much anymore.

  Now that Sandy was staying with them, too, they no longer had an inside source at the township office. They didn’t know what kind of bullshit Daryl Freed was spreading around. Even before Dwayne’s ill-fated plan, Daryl and his posse had been putting an entirely different—and entirely false—spin on things.

  Personally, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if Freed liked them or not. However, if there was one thing he’d learned in his time on the teams, it was that local support—or lack of it—could have a huge impact on the success of any mission.

  Church was being curiously reticent about the whole thing. His strategy was to keep a low profile and take the higher road, not to engage the local instigators in a public debate. “People will believe what they want to believe,” he’d said, “whether or not it’s true.”

  Something told Mad Dog he was talking about more than just the recent run-ins. And while he understood and respected Church’s position, he was not one hundred percent in agreement with it. Yes, there were always malcontents who would oppose them, no matter what, but there were probably a lot more who weren’t ready to stock up on torches and pitchforks just yet. It didn’t seem fair to them or to the silent majority if they were only hearing one side of the story, especially if the source of that info was someone who was clearly biased.

  That was why he was taking it upon himself to do some casual recon while on a supply run. The way the people responded to his presence in town could be an indication of overall public sentiment toward them and their mission.

  As he wound his way down the curvy mountain road, the conditions improved. The latest storm had dumped a few inches of snow around, the higher elevations getting more than the valley. By the time he reached Sumneyville, blacktop was even visible in spots.

  He pulled into the parking lot of Handelmann’s Hardware with the plan of picking up rock salt, ice melt, and some additional shovels. The place wasn’t too busy. The customers who were there eyed him with interest as he made his way up and down the aisles, picking up things that weren’t on his list but could prove useful. Their interest was wary and curious but not openly hostile. He took that as a good sign.

  “Can I help you find anything?”

  He turned to look down into the face of a pretty, wholesome-looking blonde. She wore a thick flannel shirt over her I got it at Handelmann’s T-shirt and well-worn Timberlands on her feet. Big blue eyes looked up at him, momentarily striking him dumb.

  “Rock salt or ice melt, and shovels,” he managed.

  She smiled, and he felt it in his chest. “You and everyone else. Over here.”

  She turned and walked away, leading him toward the opposite side of the store. His feet followed without a second thought.

  “We’re running a little low,” she told him apologetically, “but we’re expecting more by the end of the week. How much do you need?”

  She looked at him expectantly. He forced his attention away from her to look at the few bags of salt that sat on a pallet with four or five heavy-duty shovels propped up behind them. He could take it all and more, but didn’t want to deplete their meager supply.

  “How about one bag of salt and one shovel?”

  She tilted her head. “That’s all?”

  “For now. I’ll come back next week when you have more.”

  She bent over to pick up the forty-pound bag of salt, grunting slightly as she lifted it from the pallet.

  “Here, I’ve got it.” He took the bag from her and hefted it over his shoulder, then reached for the shovel, taking pleasure in the way her eyes widened slightly at the ease with which he did so.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Not today, thanks.”

  Mad Dog followed her to the counter. A beefy canine with a huge head stepped out from behind the counter and warily sniffed at his boots.

  “Is he friendly?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “He likes some people more than others. He’s not growling, so he must like you.”

  The dog moved his inspection from his boots to his hand, and Mad Dog let him sniff that, too. He must have passed muster because the canine ducked his big head and rubbed against his palm.

  The woman laughed. “Oh, yeah, he definitely likes you. That’s his not-so-subtle way of letting you know he wants you to pet him.”

  Mad Dog obliged. “What’s his name?”

  “Duke.”

  “He’s yours?”

  “Sort of. He comes and goes as he pleases, but he’s here more often than not.” She shrugged. “He just showed up one day and decided to adopt me.”

  He liked the way she’d said that, as if the dog had chosen her, not the other way around. He could understand it, too. She had a friendly way about her that probably drew lots of people in. The dog knew a good thing when he saw it.

  As she rang up his purchases, a whiff of rich chocolate had his mouth watering. Mad Dog glanced at the pyramid of individually wrapped brownies on top of the counter. A three-by-five index card advertised them as fifty cents each or three for one dollar with proceeds to benefit the local animal shelter.

  “Are these homemade?” he asked.

  “Yep. Baked them myself.”

  “How much for the whole plate?”

  She blinked and then smiled. It lit up her whole face and showcased a set of dimples he hadn’t noticed before. “Like brownies, do you?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Good point.” She quickly counted them. “Three dozen, so that’s twelve dollars.”

  He slid a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.”

  Her smile grew, and once again, he thought of how it lit up her whole face.

  “Thanks. Have a good day,” she said brightly.

  “You, too.”

  He left the store in a much better mood than when he’d gone in, thinking that maybe Sam was right after all.

  Chapter Two

  Kate

  Kate Handelmann watched the big man leave, feeling an unusual tingle in her core. And he was big. Six-three at least with broad shoulders and powerful-looking legs.

  Strong, too. He’d lifted that bag of rock salt as if it were nothing. And he liked brownies.

  She didn’t know his name but figured he had to be one of the Sanctuary guys who had been putting everyone into a tizzy. She was feeling in a bit of a tizzy herself but probably not for the same reasons.

  “Who was that?” her younger sister asked, stopping in the doorway to stare slack-jawed at the handsome stranger, now getting into his V8 pickup.

  While Kate loved her sister, she was glad she hadn’t been around when he came in. Kylie would have bee
n all over the poor guy like white on rice. And him, well, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed Kate or the brownies. Kylie was that pretty.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Did he pay with cash or card?”

  Kylie’s eyes were calculating and held far too much interest for Kate’s liking.

  She quietly slipped the credit card receipt in the drawer. Call her a good citizen. She was protecting the innocent. “Cash.”

  “Damn. Do you think he’s that big everywhere?”

  The thought might have crossed Kate’s mind. It was only natural. He was a good-looking guy and smacked together quite well, and in a small town like Sumneyville, he stood out. She doubted there was a woman who saw him and didn’t at least consider it.

  Kate wasn’t about to admit that though. Not to her sister or anyone else.

  Once his vehicle rumbled away from the curb, Kylie shook her head and joined her at the counter. “Honestly, Kate, it’s no wonder you’re still single if you let a guy like that walk away without even getting a name.”

  Kate ignored the gibe. Things like flirting and asking for names and numbers weren’t her style. Besides, Kylie was just parroting their mother’s weekly lament. In a few months, Kate would be turning thirty, which apparently was dangerously close to spinster territory. Her mother wanted grandchildren. Badly. Since their older sister, Karyn, was living in LA with her same-sex spouse and Kylie had just started community college, their mother had foolishly hung her hopes on her.

  What she didn’t know—what no one knew, except Kate and a specialist in Philadelphia—was that was probably never going to happen. However, thanks to an extremely limited pool of eligible local bachelors, she might never have to reveal that to her mother and break her grandbaby-wanting heart.

  “Kate’s smart,” Luther said, coming out from the back office with a familiar leather satchel in his hand.

  Kate had bought it for him years earlier when they foolishly tried taking their relationship beyond the family-friend zone.

  That hadn’t ended well. Luther wasn’t a one-woman kind of guy, and Kate wasn’t into open relationships. Her parents still held out hope that they’d get back together someday, but, like Kate having kids, that was never going to happen.