“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
“I believe you said something about a beer.”
“That I did. Got a preference?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Be right back.”
He went behind the bar and poured two tall glasses from the tap. While there, he spoke with several of those seated at the bar, who turned and shot curious looks her way.
“Do they let anyone behind the bar, or does your badge afford you special privileges?” she teased when he returned to the table.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Special privilege. I help out sometimes.”
“A police officer and a bartender. A man of many talents.”
He raised his glass, his cheeks turning a ruddy hue. “Comes with the territory when your father’s the fire chief. I practically grew up at the station.”
“And yet you became a policeman, not a fireman.”
“I’m on the volunteer squad,” he admitted.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “The ladies were just telling me about a terrible fire at the Winston resort. Were you on the squad then?”
A dark cloud passed over his features as he dropped his gaze toward his meal. “Yes. It was one of my first official calls. Wasn’t much we could do by the time we got there though.”
“Did you know the Winstons?”
“Everyone knew the Winstons,” he said evenly. “Sumneyville is a small town.”
“What about Matt? Were you friends? Go to school together?”
“Not particularly. He was a few years ahead of me.” He shifted uncomfortably and glanced toward the door.
His friendly manner had cooled considerably, and Bree decided to change gears.
“So, do I have to keep calling you Officer Petraski, or are you going to tell me what the L stands for?”
“Lenny.”
“So, Officer Lenny, tell me more about you.”
“Me? There’s not much to tell,” he said, shaking his head.
Her instincts told her otherwise. From his short hair and clean-shaven jaw to the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, Officer Petraski might present like the boy next door, but she sensed something simmering beneath that wholesome facade. It could just be a case of small-town wariness of outsiders, or it could be something more.
“I doubt that. In fact, I find that the people who don’t think they have anything to tell usually turn out to have the most interesting stories. Especially people who devote so much of their lives to helping others.”
She leaned forward slightly and gave him her full attention. Her strategy paid off. His cheeks flushed, as if he was embarrassed, and some of the hardness left his features.
Over a delicious meal of grilled sausage, cucumber-onion salad with a sweet and tangy vinegar dressing, and heavily buttered dough nuggets he called spaetzle, Bree kept the conversation focused solely on him. She learned that he’d been born and raised in Sumneyville—no surprise there. In addition to being a police officer and a volunteer firefighter, he was also an avid fisherman and hunter and played second base for the Sumneyville Bearcats in the regional softball league.
“Okay, I have to ask,” she said after swiping a napkin over her buttered lips. “Why is your team called the Bearcats?”
“A compromise.” He laughed, relaxed once again, and sat back, having finished his dinner long before she did.
“Do tell.”
“It was before my time, but everyone knows the story. Half the town wanted to be called the Sumneyville Bears, on account of the large black bear population in the area. The other half disagreed, saying that Wildcats was a better name because big cats were more ferocious than lumbering bears. It polarized the community.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” he told her, his eyes dancing with amusement. “People displayed signs in their yards and taped them to their windows. Bears supporters wouldn’t patronize Wildcats businesses, and vice versa. Things got ugly.”
“So, what happened?”
Lenny grinned and took a drink of his beer. “Eventually, the Ladies Auxiliary had had enough and decided something had to be done. So, one night, they got together and marched through town. They ripped down all the Bears and Wildcats signs and replaced them with Bearcats signs. We’ve been the Bearcats ever since.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some of the ladies in the Auxiliary are pretty fierce.”
Bree laughed again, able to picture it easily. Sumneyville was exactly the kind of place where men, even grown men, were willing to battle each other but not willing to face the combined wrath of their wives, mothers, and grandmothers.
“You do know that bearcats are a real thing, right?”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are. Though they’re neither bears nor cats. They’re binturongs. They live in the rain forest and smell like popcorn.
He laughed, his disbelief apparent. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little.” She did a quick search on her phone and showed him the results.
“I’ll be damned.”
“I like the history behind the team name though It’ll make a great story for my article.”
Lenny’s smile remained, but it lessened somewhat. “I thought you were here to do a story on Sanctuary,” he said carefully.
“I am, but I’d like to include some local history as well. Sumneyville is a slice of pure Americana, and when the rest of the world is going to hell in a handbasket, people need that. They need to know that places like this still exist.”
He nodded but said nothing as he reached for her empty box, stacking it atop his.
She stopped him by laying her hand on his forearm. “Lenny, can I ask you something? Off the record?”
“Sure,” he said, but his eyes were once again wary.
“I get the impression that not everyone around here is thrilled with Sanctuary.”
He neither acknowledged nor denied the statement. “That’s not a question.”
“You’re right; it isn’t. My question is, why? I mean, I see picture banners hanging from light posts up and down Main Street, honoring local men and women who have served this country over the past century, so I know it’s not a matter of patriotism.”
The seconds ticked by in silence before he said, “You’re right, on both counts.” He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I have somewhere I need to be.”
If she’d suspected there was something simmering beneath the surface before, she was certain of it now. “Of course. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
“No problem.”
“Perhaps we can continue our conversation another time?”
“Perhaps,” he replied, but the way he said it, Bree was pretty sure it wasn’t going to happen.
“Thanks for the conversation and the beer. You pour a mean draft.”
Some of the tension in his expression eased. “My pleasure.” He picked up the empty boxes and turned to go, but then he hesitated. “A word of advice, Bree. My grandfather told me once, if you want honey, be careful about how you collect it. If you start poking at the hive, you’re going to end up with a lot of stings and no honey.”
He was warning her, clear enough, but of what—Sumneyville or Sanctuary?
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bree
Bree walked slowly back to the B & B, mentally creating a to-do list:
Research the Winston tragedy.
Find out more about Kate Handelmann and why the Ladies Auxiliary seemed concerned about her well-being.
Chat up more locals and get their perspectives.
See Nick again.
It was dark by the time she got back to the bed and breakfast. Ms. McGillicuddy had left the porch light on for her. Bree entered quietly and went to the kitchen to m
ake a cup of tea, laughing to herself when she heard rumbling snores coming from the back of the house.
Tea in hand, she made her way up to her room, changed into sleepwear, and checked her phone. It was still early in California. She scrolled through her Contacts and selected Toni’s number.
Bree: You busy?
The response was almost immediate.
Toni: Never too busy for you. What do you need?
Bree chuckled at Toni’s eager willingness to help. With Hunter on assignment in Vegas, she was probably looking for ways to not think about what he was doing out there and who he was doing it with. Rather than text a reply, Bree hit the Call button.
“You wiped out my candy stash, didn’t you?” Bree asked in greeting.
“Maybe.” Toni sniffed. “But if I did—hypothetically, of course—and I wanted to replenish said stash before you got back, where could I find them?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll call it even if you use your special skills and look up a few things for me.”
“You just want me for my back doors. Wait, that sounded wrong. What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Bree answered honestly. “Just put out some feelers on the Sanctuary corporation and see what shakes out.”
“That’s extremely vague.”
“I know. And Squirrel Nut Zippers are extremely hard to find. Expensive, too.” Bree didn’t feel the need to mention the ninety-nine cents a pound deal since she hadn’t yet corroborated Martha’s earlier claim.
Toni exhaled heavily. “Fine. Hey, how is Summertown anyway?”
“Sumneyville. And exactly what you’d expect, if you lived in a Normal Rockwell coffee table book.”
“Sounds brutal. How’s the pond stocked? Any chance of getting a nibble?”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Bree said, even as an image of Nick came to mind.
“I know; I know. But you know what they say about all work and no play, right?”
“It gets Bree the good assignments?”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re in Mayberry and Hunter’s in Vegas, spanking booty.”
Bree didn’t take Toni’s comment personally. She’d be cranky, too, if her boyfriend were working a sex club. Besides, Bree had to believe that her dedication and diligence would pay off someday. Otherwise, what was the point?
“It’s an assignment, Toni. It doesn’t mean anything. And Hunter’s crazy about you.”
A heavy sigh. “I know. But the visuals are killing me.”
“You watched that movie again, didn’t you? The one with the billionaire and his dungeon room?”
“All three of them,” Toni admitted. “It’s my only frame of reference for what he’s dealing with.”
“Stop.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right, and yet I just can’t seem to help myself.”
“It’s you he’s coming back to.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“Text me when you’ve got something.”
“Will do.”
Bree disconnected the call and sat back, scrolling through some of the pictures she’d surreptitiously taken throughout the day, candid shots she’d use to help her draft her article. When she got to one of Nick, she paused and took time to appreciate it. It was a good shot, taken at an angle that highlighted his strong, masculine profile and sun-streaked brownish-red hair. Her heart began to beat a little faster, even as a warm, tingly feeling erupted in her core.
He—it—was definitely a keeper.
Chapter Fourteen
Cage
The afternoon had gone a lot better than he’d expected. Despite the fact that Gabriella De Rossi—Bree—had asked a lot of questions, he’d enjoyed spending time with her. She was easy to talk to, smiled often, and seemed genuinely supportive of Sanctuary and its mission.
But just because she seemed supportive didn’t mean she actually was. People said and did lots of things to get what they wanted, and it was important to remember that the beautiful Miss De Rossi wasn’t there to spend time with him. She wanted information, and he was simply the guy who’d been tasked with providing it to her.
Tech, he understood. People, not so much. They were too inconsistent. Too unpredictable. They didn’t operate according to a preprogrammed set of rules and guidelines, and their agendas weren’t always clear.
Perhaps Doc would have been a better choice. The guy had a friendly, relaxed manner and could get along with anyone. Yet the thought of Doc spending the day with Bree, talking with her, being on the receiving end of her smiles didn’t sit well with him.
Curious to know more about her, Cage went back to his trailer and fired up his laptop. He began with a cursory background check as a starting point and dug deeper. What he found left him reeling.
Gabriella De Rossi had been born approximately twenty-nine years earlier to Alfonse and Maria De Rossi Sanatucci of Brooklyn, New York. Her mother died of pancreatic cancer young in life—when Gabriella was only seven. When she was thirteen, her father was arrested for his ties to organized crime, resulting in several stacked life sentences without possibility of parole. Bree was placed in protective custody and eventually taken in by an aunt on her mother’s side. Attended a Catholic girls’ school, followed by two years of community college before transferring to SUNY to double major in English and journalism.
After graduation, she moved to the West Coast, taking a position at the Sentinel Voice in the mailroom. She’d since worked her way up the ranks, and she did mostly human-interest stories. No tickets, no arrests, no registered political affiliation.
Cage sat back and stretched, leaving his fingers locked behind his head, more intrigued than ever. What was the daughter of a former caporegime—a captain in one of the prominent crime families on the East Coast—doing, working for a watchdog publication like the Sentinel Voice?
He and Bree were more alike than he’d ever imagined. Was that why he’d felt an instant connection with her? Because, subconsciously, he’d tuned in to another soul who had experienced a similar background and tried to put her past behind her, like he had?
His cell phone buzzed as a message from Church popped up on the screen.
Church: Team meeting in 5.
Cage methodically closed tab after tab and secured his personal machine. After locking the door behind him, he made his way to the main building, his thoughts still on Bree and whether or not he should share his findings with the others. Ultimately, he decided against it—at least until he had a chance to do more research. And he would be doing more research—that was a given. Curious before, he was now fascinated.
Delicious scents wafted out from the dining room, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for a while. He’d been too wrapped up in his research, and time had passed quickly. He’d have to rectify that after the meeting. It was going to be a late night.
The others were already gathered in the war room when he arrived.
“What’s up?”
Muted conversations ceased, and Doc looked at him expectantly. “So? How’d it go today?”
“It went well,” Cage answered, choosing to lean against one of the deep windowsills rather than take a seat. “She seemed impressed with the place.”
“Impressed with you, you mean,” Heff corrected. “Enough to ask for more.”
Cage had installed the security cameras around the property, so he knew exactly what they were and were not capable of. “Spying, Heff? Really?”
Heff shrugged apologetically. “Sniper scopes are good for more than just sniping, you know. I can’t help it if I can read lips.”
“Are you going to do it?” Doc asked. “See her again, I mean.”
“He definitely should,” Heff said firmly before Cage could answer one way or the other. “If she’s with him, she’s less likely to listen to them. Besides, his rejection could color her perspective. A woman scorned and all that.”
Smoke grunted. “She probably just wants to pump him for
information.”
“Of course she’s going to pump him for information! Don’t underestimate the benefits of a good pumping,” Heff said with a smirk. “If he’s lucky, she’ll try to seduce the information out of him in various and creative ways.”
The thought of Bree attempting to seduce him was not unpleasant. She was an attractive, fascinating woman.
“She mentioned meeting for coffee, maybe dinner, while she was in town.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“Playing hard to get. Perfect. Women love that shit.”
Cage ignored Heff and looked at Church, who had remained silent. “What do you think?”
The corners of Church’s lips quirked. “You don’t need my permission.”
“I’m not asking for it,” Cage replied evenly. “I’m asking what you think is best for Sanctuary.”
Church sat back and considered it.
The two men had been friends for a long time and had been through some tough situations together. Church had to know that Cage wouldn’t put his own interests above the team’s.
“I think we’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain as far as the interview goes, so don’t feel obligated. If seeing her again is something you want to do, you should,” Church said finally.
That was a no-brainer. He definitely wanted to. He just didn’t know if he should. Especially now. However, the thought of being with someone who might understand him on a level most people couldn’t was tempting.
“Tell me again, why do we give a shit what she thinks?” Smoke asked, oblivious to Cage’s inner struggle.
“We don’t,” Church assured him. “However, the woman is here to get a story, and if she doesn’t get one from us, she’s going to get one somewhere else. I think we can all agree that there are some who would be willing to offer their input—input that wouldn’t be particularly flattering to us and what we’re doing here.”
Church was referring to the Sumneyville chief of police and his ilk as well as the townspeople who either supported Freed or were afraid to publicly contradict him. Thankfully, most of the citizens in Sumneyville didn’t seem to have a problem with them, but it only took one or two malcontents to cause trouble.
Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four Page 7