Best Laid Plans: Sanctuary, Book Two

by Abbie Zanders

  It was dangerous territory and exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

  But their old SEAL buddy, Steve “Smoke” Tannen, had signed on, and they’d all come into town to move him into his new place. Heff couldn’t not join them for dinner. Church would have known something was up, especially since, up until a few days ago, Franco’s had been his favorite local place to eat.

  The server who approached their table, however, wasn’t Sandy, but a younger woman with voluminous raven black hair tipped in red, pulled haphazardly into the clip at the back of her neck. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. Heff felt an irrational pang of disappointment along with a telltale prickle of warning.

  “Where’s Sandy?” Brian “Mad Dog” Sheppard asked.

  The guy was built like a tank, and he was always hungry. Mad Dog liked Sandy, probably because she doubled the portion sizes when they came in but somehow neglected to factor that into their bill. Church had called her on it, but she’d simply shrugged and said it was a thank you for your service discount. Mad Dog had had the puppy eyes for her ever since.

  “She’s not here,” the young woman purred, her gaze raking over everyone and stopping at Heff. She blinked and then smiled. “But I’ll take good care of you.”

  Heff had a gift for knowing when a woman wanted him. It happened often enough that he’d developed a sixth sense for it. He could see it in their eyes, feel the vibes. But he didn’t need any special senses for this one. Her intent was written all over her face.

  His inner voice spoke loud and clear, Do not—I repeat, do not—engage.

  He felt the penetrating stares of his teammates. The new waitress continued to focus on him, and he stubbornly pretended not to notice by focusing on the menu. “Start with them.”

  They placed their orders, having to repeat their selections several times as she wrote them down. After she left, an awkward silence fell over their table.

  Church cleared his throat meaningfully, and then Heff felt his gaze, too, as if any of that were his fault.

  “Want to tell me what that was all about?” Church asked.

  Heff frowned. “How the hell should I know?”

  Cole “Doc” Watson laughed; his hazel eyes filled with amusement. “Christ, Heff. We can’t take you anywhere.”

  Mad Dog grunted. “Didn’t you ever hear the saying about not fucking where you eat?”

  “It’s don’t shit where you eat,” Nick “Cage” Fumanti corrected helpfully.

  “I like my version better.”

  Church exhaled. “Heff ...”

  “Relax,” Heff said easily, irritation masked beneath his smile. “I have not, nor do I intend to, accept anything she is so eagerly offering.”

  “Good.” Some of the tension left Church’s face. “Remember what we talked about. We’re having enough trouble getting shit done without pissing off the locals, and that one’s daddy is one of the township supervisors.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” Heff taunted, earning himself another glare.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” Doc asked. “I know shit happens, but it almost seems as if someone’s got it out for this project or something. Or you. Is there some bad blood between you and the locals that we should know about?”

  Church grimaced. “Not on my end.”

  The server, Marietta—if the name badge on the chest thrust just inches from Heff’s face was correct—put a pin in that conversation by placing two pitchers of beer on the table in front of him.

  “Glasses?” Church asked.

  She turned her eyes away from Heff and gave Church an irritated glance. “What?”

  “Glasses. For the beer.” Church waved his hand toward the pitchers.

  “What? Oh, right.” She giggled, and with one last smile at Heff, she walked away, presumably to get some glasses.

  “She must be new,” Doc commented.

  Cage grinned. “Nah. Heff just has that effect on women. He’s too pretty. They take one look at him, and it fries their brain cells or something.”

  “Not Sandy,” Mad Dog pointed out as he looked toward the kitchen. “And she remembers to bring glasses.”

  “And brings the right fucking beer,” Cage added, narrowing his eyes at the pale yellow liquid filling the pitchers. “There’s no way that’s a lager.”

  Heff refrained from commenting on any of it. Not the taunt, not the beer. And he definitely didn’t set the record straight about just how Sandy had responded to him. The memory of her soft moans was on a frequent loop in the back of his mind these days, an erotic form of background music that had been ending in cold showers and a higher than normal frequency of DIY.

  Thankfully, Cage changed the subject back to the Sanctuary. “So, let me get this straight. We’ve got the state’s okay to run the new lines where we want to, but we’re dead in the water?”

  Church nodded.

  “Why? What’s the holdup?”

  “The excavator says he’s overbooked, and he can’t get any guys out right now.”

  “So? Just rent the equipment, and we can do it ourselves,” Steve suggested.

  “Anyone here know how to operate a backhoe?” Cage asked.

  Doc grinned. “No, but we’ve been trained to operate multimillion-dollar, high-tech toys on the government’s dime. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

  Church nodded, but he looked doubtful. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll get the public meeting approved. and it’ll change some attitudes for the better,” Heff offered.

  “Speaking of, why haven’t we heard anything about that? I thought you were supposed to work your magic on the township secretary.”

  Heff snapped his eyes up to find Doc grinning at him with amusement. With no food—and still no mugs—to distract them, the others cast curious glances his way too.

  “Ah, hell,” Cage said. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Hell yes, there had been some magic involved, but he hadn’t been the one working it. They didn’t know that, however, and he wasn’t about to tell them.

  “Fucktard. I talked to Sandy. She said she’d push the paperwork through.”

  Mad Dog perked up at the name. “Sandy ... you mean, our usual waitress Sandy?”

  Heff nodded. “Apparently, she works days at the township building.”

  “Doing what?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Heff answered defensively. “I told her what I was there for. She did the paperwork. End of story.”

  Church narrowed his eyes. Heff could see the question there, a question he wasn’t about to answer.

  After a moment or two, Church sat back and exhaled. “If Sandy handled it, it’ll get done. She’s good people.”

  “You know her?” Doc asked.

  “I knew her brother, Trace,” Church answered evenly. His expression went neutral. “We went to school together. He enlisted in the Army about the same time I went into the Navy.”

  “Yeah? Maybe he’d be interested in helping out with the Sanctuary. We can use all the strong backs we can get.” That from Mad Dog.

  “He’s not,” Church said firmly. When they continued to look at him, he added, “He took his own life about five years ago.”

  “Fuck.”

  Heavy silence fell over the table. Unsurprisingly, Heff immediately thought of Sandy. No wonder she’d been so supportive of the project and adamant about ensuring the paperwork went through. She had a personal interest and knew firsthand how badly the need existed.

  “Here you are,” their server said brightly, returning with a large plate of nachos and setting it down on the table. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  “Yeah,” grumbled Mad Dog. “How about the stuff we actually ordered?”

  Her face went blank, and then she pulled her notepad out of her apron pocket and scowled down at it.

  “Miss?” a guy called out and waved from a few tables over. “This is not what we ordered.” Two heaping plates of wing
s sat on the table in front of them.

  “I must have mixed up the orders,” she said unnecessarily. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem,” Church told her. “But can we please get some mugs?”

  She blinked.

  “Glasses?”

  She blinked again.

  “For the beer?” Doc clarified.

  “Oh, right.”

  She took off again, changing course halfway across the room when another patron flagged her down. Five minutes later, she returned with a tray of mugs—and gave them to an elderly couple a few tables over, ignoring their protests and beelining it toward a table of college jocks who’d just come in.

  “I got this,” Cage said, smoothly rising and grabbing the plate of nachos. He exchanged the nachos for the wings and then spoke quietly to the elderly couple, returning with the tray of mugs.

  “I miss Sandy,” Mad Dog lamented.

  Heff exhaled and grabbed a wing. He did too.

  Chapter Five

  Sandy

  For a moment, Sandy was stunned before she regained some of her wits. “Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. My brother died five years ago.”

  Her father’s face twisted in pain at the reminder. Sandy’s mom had hired a private detective to track him down and tell him the news, but it had taken weeks, and Trace had been buried by then. Not that he’d ever responded.

  “Kevin is your half-brother. My son. Mine and Bianca’s.”

  Bianca. The wealthy socialite’s name was one she’d heard her mother mention in hushed whispers over tea with Lenny’s mom. The one he’d left them for. At the time, there were rumors of her being pregnant, but it was all just supposition.

  Regardless, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been interested in the sordid rumors then, nor was she interested in hearing about them now. Her half-brother was nothing but a nameless, faceless stranger who hadn’t existed in her world until a few seconds ago. She owed him nothing—and her father, even less.

  “I can’t help you.”

  “Please, Sandy. He’s a good kid. He just needs a place to stay for a couple of days while I straighten some things out. That’s all.”

  Sandy grimaced. “What things? Why can’t he stay with his mother?”

  “Bianca left us,” her father admitted.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Did she find out you were cheating on her like you’d cheated on Mom? Or did she finally get tired of supporting your gambling habit?”

  Her father winced but didn’t deny either accusation. “Bianca’s confused. She just needs some time to sort things out; that’s all.”

  “Hmm,” Sandy hummed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Sounds kind of like Karma to me.”

  “Look, I get it. You’re angry with me. You think I did you wrong, and you hate me.”

  “Do you blame me? Did you seriously expect that, after all these years of nothing, you could just walk in here, and we’d have some kind of Hallmark moment?”

  “No, but ...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Your mother and me, it just wasn’t working.”

  “I think what you mean is, you weren’t working. You saw an easy way out, and you took it, leaving us to deal with the mess you’d made. And the only reason you’re here now is because you need something, not because you actually give a shit about anyone besides yourself. Tell me I’m wrong, Dad.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he admitted with a heavy exhale. “But you have no reason to hate Kevin.”

  “I don’t even know Kevin.”

  “All I’m asking is for you to let him stay here for a couple of days while I find Bianca and try to talk some sense into her. Please, Sandy. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option. He won’t give you any trouble, I swear.”

  Since Sandy hadn’t even known of her half-brother’s existence until a few minutes ago, she couldn’t know if that were true or not. However, having been in a similar situation herself, she felt a pang of empathy for the kid and knew it wasn’t fair to judge him based on the actions of her father. She knew firsthand how shitty that was.

  She cast a look at Lenny, who’d returned to standing in the doorway. He must have been thinking along the same lines because he nodded slightly in encouragement.

  Damn it.

  “I want to meet him.”

  “Of course, of course! He’s in the car.”

  “I said I wanted to meet him, not that I’d do this,” she clarified, but her father pretended not to hear and stepped quickly outside. Sandy exhaled and looked at Lenny. “Tell me I’m not an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” Lenny confirmed with approval in his eyes. “Just a woman with a big heart and a tremendous sense of decency.”

  She snorted. “What you really mean is, I’m a sucker.”

  Lenny’s lips quirked. “A sucker with a big heart and a tremendous sense of decency.”

  Sandy’s father returned with a boy in tow, holding a suitcase. He stood just past her father’s shoulders and was nearly as broad. Going by size alone, Sandy guessed him to be in his mid-teens. It would also fit the time frame. If her dad’s mistress had been pregnant at the time he left, that would make the kid fourteen or fifteen, depending on just how far along she’d been. It was hard to tell though since he was staring pointedly at the floor.

  Sandy had the impression he wasn’t any happier about the situation than she was. Then again, the kid’s mom had bolted, and his father was trying to pawn him off on a stranger, so that was understandable.

  “Say hello to your sister, Kevin,” her father prodded.

  Kevin shook his head and continued to stare at the floor.

  “Hi, Kevin,” Sandy said. “I’m Sandy, and this is my friend Lenny.”

  Kevin slowly raised his head, and Sandy fought to keep her gaze neutral. He looked from Sandy to Lenny and then back down at his feet.

  “Come on in, Kevin. Lenny, would you take Kevin into the kitchen and get him something to drink, please? I need to have a word with my father.”

  “Yeah, sure. Come on in, Kevin. Sandy makes the best homemade lemonade in town.”

  “Go on, Kev,” her father coaxed, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Kevin shrank slightly from the contact. “It’s okay.”

  Kevin did what he had been told, shuffling into the kitchen behind Lenny.

  Sandy went over to her father, grabbed him by his sleeve, and pulled him to the far side of the room where she was less likely to be heard in the kitchen. “What the hell?” she hissed.

  “He’s autistic,” her father confirmed. “But he’s a good kid, Sandy. Smart too.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of someone who’s autistic.”

  “You don’t need to. He’s very independent, and he can take care of himself. He just needs someone around; that’s all. He won’t be any trouble, I swear. There’s no one else I can ask. No one else I trust.” He paused, licking his lips. “It’s only for a few days, Sandy.”

  She felt for Kevin—she really did—but she didn’t have time to play babysitter. She had so much to do before she left for New York.

  She opened her mouth to say so, but her father cut her off, “Please, pumpkin. Hate me, I deserve it, but don’t hold my sins against him.”

  Sandy could feel her resolve weakening. She felt no inclination to help the man who had abandoned her and her family, but that wasn’t the kid’s fault.

  “Do this,” her father pleaded, “and I swear, I will never darken your doorstep again.”

  “A few days. That’s all. And I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for him.”

  Her father’s face lit up. “I knew my baby wouldn’t let me down. A few days—that’s all. You have my word.”

  “Is there anything I need to know?” she asked, hoping she didn’t wind up regretting her decision.

  “He doesn’t like to be touched,” her father said after a moment’s hesitation. “And he likes Cheerios and peanut butter. If you have
those on hand, you won’t even need to cook for him.”

  Without wasting another moment, he went back out to his car and returned with a suitcase. He placed it just inside the door. Lenny and Kevin emerged from the kitchen.

  “Great news, Kev. You get to stay with your sister while I go get your mom. Be good for her, and I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

  Moments later, her father was gone, and Sandy, Lenny, and Kevin stood awkwardly in her living room.

  “So, Kevin,” she said, summoning what she hoped was a friendly smile, “do you like pizza?”

  Chapter Six

  Heff

  Heff looked up at the sound of tires crunching along the gravel to see Smoke’s Wrangler making its way toward the main building. Squinting, he made out not one, but two people in the front seat.

  Intrigued, he straightened and watched as Smoke parked behind Mad Dog’s flatbed. His interest only grew when Smoke hopped out and moved around to the passenger side in a gentlemanly gesture. Not just another person, but a woman.

  For one wild, irrational moment, Heff wondered if Smoke had brought Sandy up to the Sanctuary with news, hating how appealing the thought was. He hadn’t seen the woman since their unexpected motel time, but she’d remained a stubborn presence in the back of his mind, like a tiny pebble lodged in his shoe, and that was irritating.

  Why hadn’t she been at Franco’s that night they went out to celebrate Smoke’s arrival? And why hadn’t she been at the township building when he stopped by to check on the status of his request? Was she avoiding him?

  He pushed those unhelpful thoughts aside—again—because they didn’t matter. What did matter was getting Sanctuary moving forward, and since she worked for the township and was a proponent of the project, she was the most likely resource to tap.

  No, no, no, not tap, he corrected.

  He wouldn’t be doing that again, no matter how good it had been. She was an inside contact with access and information and quite possibly their best chance of getting things moved through the sludge of red tape and local politics.