Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four

by Abbie Zanders

  Just that quickly, his tone went from growly and sexy to guarded and wary. “Something came up last night that I had to deal with.”

  “More trespassers?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  She hadn’t expected him to answer so truthfully. “You didn’t put anyone else in the hospital, did you?”

  A pause. “You’ve been talking to some of Sumneyville’s finest, I see.”

  “I like to be thorough. And that’s not a denial.”

  “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “Obviously, I don’t know what you were told, but I doubt it was accurate.”

  “So, tell me what really happened.”

  More silence and then, “It’s all there in the arrest records and court transcripts.”

  Arrest records? Court transcripts?

  “If you haven’t read those yet, I suggest you do. In the interest of thoroughness,” he said, his voice noticeably cooler than it had been. What bothered her more than the chill was the disappointment now lacing it.

  “Nick ...”

  “I have to go. Have a safe rest of the trip, okay?”

  Bree took the hint. He didn’t want to talk to her anymore.

  She couldn’t blame him. First, she’d acted like a jealous girlfriend with the field-trip comment, and then she’d followed up with uncorroborated hearsay from an unreliable source.

  There were so many better ways in which she could have broached the subject. On the plus side—if it could be seen as a plus—Nick hadn’t tried to talk his way out of it or make excuses. He’d simply told her to read the facts—something she should have done before she accused him of anything.

  Her phone dinged with yet another alert from the airline, reminding her that her flight had been rescheduled. If she wanted to make it, she needed to hit the road. Still, she hesitated. There was so much left unresolved. She couldn’t in good conscience return to California, not yet, not without answers.

  Decision made, Bree canceled her flight, notified the front desk she wouldn’t be checking out as originally planned, and got to work. Thanks to her earlier nap, a sense of renewed determination, and lousy but effective free in-room coffee, she was primed and ready.

  The first thing she did was reach for her notebook, but a quick and somewhat frantic search for it came up empty. She hoped she hadn’t left it back at the B & B. Sure, she often wrote in shorthand in case her notebook accidentally fell into the wrong hands, but unlike the rest of the world, it was highly likely some of the women in the Ladies Auxiliary were proficient in shorthand.

  Think. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, thinking back to that morning. She clearly remembered stuffing the journal into the front pocket of her carry-on, which meant it must have fallen out after. Chances were, it was sitting in the rental; she had grabbed her bag in a hurry.

  Since she was in her pajamas and it was still raining buckets, she decided she could do without it. Thankfully, she’d typed up her notes after talking to Lenny, so she hadn’t really lost anything, but her notebooks were important to her. She had an entire collection she’d built up over the years, each one holding memories of her trips and the people she’d met along the way.

  “Thank God for the internet,” she muttered as she began searching police records in and around Sumneyville, starting with the last twelve months. It was a tedious task, especially since she didn’t have a name to go on, but she finally found what she had been looking for.

  According to the reports, Dwayne Freed, son of Sumneyville Police Chief Daryl Freed, had broken into a private residence on Sanctuary property and threatened one of the residents, Cassandra Summers.

  Lenny’s friend Sandy?

  Not only had Freed threatened Miss Summers, but he’d been in violation of his parole terms by carrying a firearm. Miss Summers had fended off the attack with “a large, blunt object” until help arrived and Freed was subdued.

  So, Lenny hadn’t lied, but he’d been very selective in what he shared, leaving out the breaking and entering and attempted murder and the fact that Freed’s injuries had been the result of a woman acting in self-defense.

  Bree wondered what else Lenny had lied about. As if on cue, her phone rang. She looked at the display, recognizing the arson investigator’s number.

  “That was fast,” she said in greeting.

  “What did you stumble into, Miss De Rossi?” the investigator asked.

  That didn’t sound good. “Why? What did you find?”

  “Nothing definite—yet. But my gut’s telling me those fires were all set by the same person, and it wasn’t Samantha Applehoff. Another thing: whoever conducted the investigations is either a fucking idiot or has a hidden agenda. I strongly suggest you watch your back on this one.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  Bree disconnected, even more convinced that Lenny had been the one attempting to manipulate her, not Nick. The fact that the Sumneyville Fire Chief was Lenny’s dad hammered another nail into Lenny’s credibility coffin. That more than justified her decision to stick around and sort things out in her mind.

  Bree called Toni next.

  “Did you get in early?”

  “No, I’m still in Pennsylvania. I’ve decided to stay a couple extra days. Is Hunter around?”

  “No, he went back to his place. Why are you still in Pennsylvania?”

  “Because there’s something here, Toni; I can feel it. Look up some names for me, will you? See what you can find out about Lenny Petraski and Dwayne Freed. One’s a cop, and one’s a criminal.”

  “Holy hell, Bree. This was supposed to be a cream-puff assignment! Instead, you’ve slept with a mobster, called in an arson investigator, and have me stalk a policeman.”

  “I know; I know,” Bree said, rubbing at the spot between her eyes. It wasn’t as if she went looking for trouble. It just kind of found her. “What can I say? I really want Hunter to pay for takeout.”

  “You’re insane.”

  Bree could picture Toni shaking her head. It made her smile. They were going to have a lot to talk about when she got back to California. “I know that, too. Call me when you’ve got something, okay?”

  “Okay. And, Bree? Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cage

  He was such an idiot.

  Sometimes, he forgot that Bree was a journalist. That she’d come to Sanctuary for a story, not for him. With his personal backstory and Petraski flinging shit like the primate he was, how could Bree not have doubts?

  Sandy came over to join him at the table with her laptop in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She took one look at his untouched plate of reheated breakfast leftovers and asked, “Uh-oh. Problems?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Cage answered. “What are you up to?”

  “I had some new concept ideas for websites and wanted to get them down while they’re fresh in my mind. I tend to get more done when snacks are involved. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” Sandy turned to go to another table.

  “It’s just ... I think Bree’s been asking questions in town and hearing some negative things about us.” About me.

  Sandy returned and slid into a seat across from him. “We expected that. I thought that was one of the reasons we brought her up here. So she could see for herself and form her own opinions.”

  “It was,” he agreed.

  And he was the one who was supposed to keep her occupied and distracted and happy. Until that morning, he’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of it, too. Unfortunately for him, it had become so much more than a task. He liked her. A lot.

  “Judging by the tortured look on your face, it didn’t quite work out that way.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “I thought she got it, but she just asked me if I’d missed our breakfast this morning because I put another trespasser in the
hospital last night. And that was after she asked if I’d taken another woman on a personalized tour.”

  Sandy frowned. “Sounds like she’s been talking to Lenny. What did you say?”

  “I told her not to believe everything she hears, and if she wanted the full story, she should read the arrest records.”

  Sandy’s frown deepened. “Ouch.”

  “I know.” Cage sighed heavily. “Fuck. I’m just not good at this.”

  “You really like her, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m an idiot. It’s just ... I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel like she does. Someone who actually understands what it was like to grow up in the same kind of environment as I did. Or at least, I thought she did.”

  “Hugh filled me in last night. She knows about your family then?”

  Cage nodded. “Yeah. It came up on a background check, apparently.”

  “How’d she take it?”

  “She asked me some questions, and I told her the truth. I thought it would be a game changer, but surprisingly, she seemed okay with it. Probably because she could relate. It was like another invisible string between us, you know?”

  “It sucks to be judged by your family’s deeds instead of your own,” Sandy replied, speaking from personal experience. Her father hadn’t exactly been a paragon in the local community, and Sandy’s family had suffered the effects for years.

  They sat there for a few minutes in contemplative silence.

  Then, Sandy asked, “Would you like to know what I think?”

  “I’ll take all the insight I can get.”

  “I think she’s scared.”

  “Scared? Of what?”

  “Of you. Or more specifically, what she feels for you.”

  When Cage began to shake his head, Sandy continued, “Hear me out. I know what it feels like to feel conflicted, torn between wanting a career and a personal life. As a journalist, it’s her job to be objective and seek out the truth. But as a woman, she wants to believe you’re as wonderful as she thinks you are.”

  He snorted.

  “I’m serious. That question about providing a personalized tour? That’s her asking for confirmation that she wasn’t just a job to you. And who knows what kind of toxic crap Lenny was feeding her? It’s not like he’s going to tell her the truth.”

  There was that.

  “You have to nip that in the bud, bud. Talk to her. Encourage her to ask questions. That’s what she wants—you to be open and honest with her. Not only as a journalist, but also as someone whose opinion matters to you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. If you don’t, she’ll assume she was just a one-time thing and then look elsewhere for answers. From what Sam said, she doesn’t seem like the type to give up until she finds what she’s looking for. And based on everything that’s going on these days, that could be dangerous for her.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, remembering Heff’s earlier veiled warning about flipping rocks and finding snakes.

  On the plus side, Bree was on her way back to California, and that would limit the amount of trouble she could get into. He told Sandy as much.

  “Are you sure? Because according to the news, most major airlines in the northeast suspended flights in or out yesterday due to the storm.”

  “She did say her flight was delayed until this morning.”

  “That blows. They showed pictures on TV of people stuck at the airport, jam-packed in like sardines. Which one was she flying out of, do you know?”

  Cage shook his head.

  “Maybe she got lucky and managed to get a room for the night.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Sandy.” Cage rose from the table and grabbed his plate.

  “I hope I helped.”

  “You did.”

  Cage went into the war room, glad to find it empty. He sat down at one of the consoles, opened up one of Ian’s customized search engines, and started typing. Then, he cursed under his breath and sat back.

  What the hell was he doing? Cyberstalking Bree? If he wanted to find out where Bree was and what she was doing, all he had to do was pick up the phone and call her ...

  Assuming she answered. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. He’d been pretty harsh, but goddammit, she’d hit a nerve. He wasn’t his family any more than she was hers, and why the hell was she listening to anything a tool like Lenny Petraski said?

  Now, he feared he was too late. A few more keystrokes and clicks, and there it was. Bree’s flight, rescheduled from the previous night, was scheduled to take off in less than an hour.

  His phone rang, and he picked it up without looking. “Bree?”

  “No, Sean Callaghan,” the other man said, sounding slightly amused. “What do you have as my Contact pic, man?”

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

  “Obviously. But that’s why I’m calling. Your woman left something in the Mustang when she turned it in.”

  Your woman. Cage liked the sound of that even if it wasn’t exactly true. “What?”

  “A journal of some sort. Nice one, too. Hand-tooled leather. Must have slipped out of her bag or something. Nicki found it wedged between the console and the passenger seat.”

  Cage remembered seeing it. “Red with a fancy engraved imprint on the cover? Yeah, she carried it with her everywhere.”

  “Did you ever look at any of those notes, by any chance?”

  Something about the tone of Sean’s voice made the hairs on the back of Cage’s neck stand up.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because they’re written in code. Nicki says it’s some kind of shorthand notation or something.”

  Cage scoffed, “No one uses shorthand anymore.”

  “That’s what I said, but apparently, she does. And Nicki can read it.”

  “Nicki read Bree’s personal journal?”

  “She opened it up to confirm it was De Rossi’s. Certain words jumped out, like cult and arson, so yeah, Nicki read more. By the looks of it, De Rossi interviewed some nonfans of yours while she was in town.”

  Yeah, he’d already figured that out. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough. I think you guys need to take a look at it.”

  Shit. “Let me talk to Church and get back to you.”

  He sent out a secure text to the group to meet him in the war room and then pulled up Bree’s number again while he waited. He was a SEAL, for God’s sake. He could find the courage to call her.

  Unfortunately, it went right to voice mail. Of course it went right to voice mail. Because she was probably boarding her flight to go back to California.

  “What’s up?” Church asked as he walked in the door, the first to arrive.

  “We might have a situation.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cage

  “Nice,” Nicki Callaghan commented as they left the lobby and headed toward the former ballroom.

  While Jake and Ian were regular visitors to Sanctuary, it was Sean’s and Nicki’s first time.

  “We aim to please.” Heff grinned.

  They settled in the war room. Not only were all the Sanctuary owners there, but their significant others were as well since this affected them, too.

  After introductions were made, they got right to business. Nicki shared what she’d translated from the journal.

  She told them about Bree’s research into the history of Winston resort as well as her interactions with locals, like Martha McGillicuddy and Agnes Miller. “Luckily for you guys, she’s not only thorough, but also incredibly perceptive, and she has a knack for seeing through bullshit. Sounds like she was being fed a lot of it.”

  Cage felt a wave a pride on Bree’s behalf.

  Nicki continued, “According to her notes, Lenny Petraski compared Sanctuary to a cult, even going so far as to say you seduce women and force them to sever ties to their loved ones to live here with you.”

  “That’s not the first time we’ve heard that,” Mad Dog r
umbled beside Kate. Her ex, Renninger, had said as much to Mad Dog during a standoff at Kate’s months earlier.

  Sandy was nodding her head in agreement. “He said those things to me, too, when he found out I was seeing Heff. Most people know it’s bullshit.”

  “Most but clearly not all,” scoffed Smoke.

  “It’s a smoke screen,” theorized Doc. “They’re trying to keep the focus on us, so no one looks at what they’re doing.”

  “That was our take as well,” Jake agreed. “But it’s not just you guys they’re badmouthing. They’re targeting your women as well.”

  Nicki’s almost-colorless eyes moved to Sam. “While Petraski stopped just shy of a direct accusation, he made it sound as if you were responsible for not only the Winston fire, but also the fire at your grandparents’ bakery and the café in town where you worked.”

  Sam’s face paled, but Smoke’s face turned thunderous. “That fucking prick. He knows that’s bullshit. Or at least, he would if he were competent enough to do his fucking job.”

  “Yeah, he knows,” agreed Heff, “but if the little fucker told the truth, he’d have to admit that they screwed up the investigations big time. And not just him. He’d be throwing shade on his father, his uncle, his whole goddamn inbred family.”

  “Regardless,” Nicki said, waving her hand, “I think Bree’s too smart to take anything he says at face value. She does her research.”

  “Which explains why I’ve been getting pinged all night,” Ian said, entering the conversation. “After that clusterfuck with Anthony Cavatelli a few years ago, I set up notifications when someone requests access to certain confidential files, and someone’s been knocking.”

  “Bree?” Cage guessed.

  “No, and not the Sentinel Voice researcher who’s been doing background checks on you either. I’m talking professional arson investigator with credentials and clearance here. It’s too coincidental to be completely random. My guess is, De Rossi sensed something didn’t add up and called in someone from the outside.”