Sanctuary Breached WITSEC Town Series Book 3

by Lisa Phillips

  She looked like his mother. He’d give her that. Walked like her. Talked like her. They’d done their homework and given themselves the best shot of their plan to infiltrate Sanctuary working. But they’d had to know eventually it would implode on them.

  Sam met her halfway, praying Beth would stay back. When his fake-mom’s eyes widened, he fake-smiled. She fake-smiled back, but he saw the truth in her eyes. This woman was dangerous. He didn’t want her anywhere near his wife. She hugged him, and he hugged her. Sam whispered low in her ear. “One wrong move and I will end you.”

  She leaned back, smiling. “Then give me what I want.”

  Sam opened his mouth.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  He turned to Beth, saw the look on her face, and knew they were in trouble.

  Beth slipped her arm in his, holding his bicep as she hugged his side. “You think you can still win, but you won’t. I hold the cards. All of them.”

  “I guess we have a stalemate.”

  Sam said, “Except that we can leave here anytime we want. One word to Grant Mason and you’re stuck here forever.”

  Her eyes flashed.

  Beth said, “I have my husband with me, a baby on the way, and I’ve done what my parents asked me to do. That doesn’t seem like a stalemate to me.”

  Abigail turned and flounced away.

  Sam noticed several people watching. A few pretending they weren’t trying to listen. He gave them all polite smiles and put his arm around his wife. “I don’t want you alone with her, ever.”

  Beth looked up at him, patted her purse. “I have a gun, she doesn’t.”

  “All she has to lose is her freedom. You have a whole lot more.”

  Beth touched his cheek this time. “I have everything I ever wanted. If she thinks she can take it away from me, she’s welcome to try.”

  That was exactly what Sam was afraid of.

  The man tuning his guitar started to strum. He stepped up to the mic. “Good morning, everyone.”

  Amid a chorus of “Good morning, Dan,” a dark-haired woman ran to Beth.

  “Nadia.”

  She handed Beth a key. “It’s all set up and ready for you. John took the lieutenant’s stuff and your bag.”

  The woman raced to her seat across the aisle, beside the sheriff’s wife and son. Beth grabbed his hand and pulled Sam to two empty seats, waving to people before she slipped the key in her pocket.

  As the first song started up, he leaned close. “What was that about?”

  She grinned up at him. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 8

  Beth blinked awake in the dimly lit cabin. Sam’s arm was across her front, pressed against her throat. The residue of its impact ricocheted as a dull throb in her chest.

  She shifted away, moving his arm off her. Sam grunted, his arms and legs whipping around. She’d seen him have a nightmare before but never this bad.

  “Sam.” She backed up off the bed, past the low lamp.

  It wasn’t worth him feeling guilt for hurting her, even if it wasn’t his fault. In the week since Sam had arrived in Sanctuary they hadn’t left Andra’s cabin much more than to take short walks in the woods. A fifteen minute walk from town up in the mountains, the cabin had been rebuilt after it was burned down last fall. They’d redone it almost exactly, a sparse structure with a basic kitchen and bathroom and only essential furniture. But what more did it need?

  The past week since he’d arrived had been the best they were able to make it. The undercurrent of everything happening was like a shadow in the room casting a swatch of darkness over them.

  “Sam.” She pulled on dance tights and a tank top. His shirt was folded neatly in his suitcase. Beth balled it up and threw it at his head. “Boxer!”

  He woke and sat up in one move. “Wha—”

  “Get dressed, sailor. It’s time to work out.”

  He wasn’t at full capacity, but that wouldn’t hinder his need to sweat in a way only professional athletes did. SEALs were like their own breed, always pushing farther and harder. Never letting up, never omitting anything. If they did, someone paid the price—with their life.

  He sat still on the edge of the bed.

  “Is it your mom?”

  He nodded.

  Beth had never met her real mother-in-law, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried what might be happening to the woman. She uncapped a bottle of water from the fridge and brought it back to the bedroom. The liquid was cold, but helped to settle her stomach.

  “Still sick?”

  She shrugged. “A little. I know in my head that the baby is fine, the doctor made sure that he was. Whatever made me sick didn’t harm him, but I’m still worried.”

  Sam pulled his T-shirt on and switched out his shorts. His socks were organized on one side of his suitcase by style and color, in stark contrast to his mud-crusted, worn sneakers that had been discarded by the door.

  He wrapped his arms loosely around her and kissed her forehead. “Want me to take you to see the doctor?”

  And have him meet the woman treating everyone in town the best she could? Beth shook her head. “I’m okay. If I’m still worried in a few days, I’ll stop by.”

  Sam gave her a squeeze and let her go. He’d been there with her all week, though the unspoken remained. Eventually their troubles were going to intrude on Sanctuary.

  Beth could barely believe Tommy had killed Swish, Wash, and Peace. She’d heard so many stories of their antics over the years they felt like her friends, too. Van brawls, cook-outs—vacations that sounded more like hard-core survival exercises just for the fun of it against a team from some other Special Forces branch.

  Did Sam think it was his fault? He’d been the officer on the team, though not the senior-most officer in his platoon. He could clear his name, confront Tommy, and get justice. But it wasn’t going to bring back his brothers. Sam would live the rest of his life knowing he hadn’t prevented their deaths. Beth could try, but the best wife in the world could never erase a pain like that.

  “You okay?”

  She shook off the thought and wandered over to him. “The last few days have been great.”

  He hugged her to him again. “They really have. Thank you.”

  Beth found the flashlight, and together they walked to town, her ballet slippers hanging from one hand. Sam Tura’s gym Sleight of Hand was on the corner of this end of Main Street.

  “Something is bothering you.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “I guess I just don’t really understand why that fake-Abigail is allowed to roam free while your mom isn’t.”

  “We need more from her than we can get if she’s locked up. If she thinks she has a long leash, she might contact the people she works for. If she does that, we’ll have the chance of uncovering just how far down this rabbit trail goes.”

  “And if you just arrest her?”

  “She’ll clam up. We can try interrogation, but it doesn’t always get results—or even good results.”

  “Can’t you just look through her stuff and find something incriminating?”

  “John took care of that while we were all at church on Sunday. He didn’t find anything. Which means, it’s either not at your house, or she has nothing. We’ll have to wait and see.” Sam motioned to the lone road that stretched out from town. “Now, what’s down there? The ranch?”

  Beth shook her head, willing—for now—to let him distract her. “That’s the road to the farm. The ranch is on the west side of town, and the farm is on the east side.” She pushed open the front door which had been painted with a white boxer and a black boxer in a ring duking it out. Sam Tura had said it was in homage to a movie, but he hadn’t said which.

  Two men were in one corner, hitting heavy bags. Other than that, the place was empty. Tura should be here. It wasn’t five in the morning yet, and he didn’t go to the diner across the street, Estelle’s, until at least seven.

  “Bethy!” The sixty year old
strode over, his chocolate brown eyes gleaming. Perfectly muscled legs any young person would kill for that peeked out from beneath his black mesh-material shorts. His T-shirt had the Sleight of Hand logo on the front, and stretched across his wide shoulders and full stomach.

  “Good morning.” She stepped aside to let her husband get in on the hugs and back-slapping.

  “Tura.” His voice was a breath, his eyes full of wonder. The old man started to laugh.

  Sam Tura hauled him up in a hug that made Beth wince. He’d have broken her rib, but he was always a gentleman with her. Even when she’d asked that his storage room be turned into a dance studio. Was it her fault the wood floor underneath had been exactly what she needed?

  “They told me you were here, but I still can’t hardly believe it.” Sam’s voice cracked. His father’s best friend squeezed the tendon between his neck and shoulder.

  “Believe it, Sammy.”

  “How’d you…”

  “End up here?”

  Sam nodded.

  The old man’s eyes dimmed. “Long story.” He composed himself and then flashed white teeth that had likely been knocked out a time or two. “Want to go a couple rounds?”

  “With Sam “the Bear” Tura?” Her husband looked halfway between nervous and jazzed, which for a SEAL was saying something. “Training me is one thing…” His gaze snagged on her.

  “I’ll be in there.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the studio, a thirty foot by twenty foot room with mirrors along one wall—worth the cost of ordering and having shipped to nowheresville, which was technically an APO address.

  “You’ll take it easy?”

  She nodded. Did he even have to ask?

  Sam walked toward the ring with Tura. The closest thing her husband had to his father—or his Pop—was Sam Tura. God had to have brought Tura here, there was no other explanation. Beth’s faith wasn’t strong by any means, but Pop had called it a “God thing” whenever something inexplicable happened like that. Knowing how much it meant to both of them, she wasn’t going to quibble. She was only going to say, Thank you, Lord.

  Beth changed into her ballet slippers and sat against the wall to stretch out her calves and hamstrings. When she was sure no one was watching, Beth slipped her hands behind her and reached between the bricks for the folded paper, praying it wasn’t the one she’d left. For weeks her pleas had gone unnoticed.

  She twisted away from the door, stretching her hip muscles, and unfolded the paper.

  Help is here.

  Beth froze. The woman was crazy. She’d lost it.

  Whatever had changed wasn’t about Sam, because Beth didn’t need to be told that. So what was the message-writer trying to say? Who was here that Beth didn’t know about?

  And were they actually going to help?

  **

  Sam waited while Tura fastened his gloves. This was going to be a tough sweat-session, but first they had to get something straight.

  “Why didn’t you tell the sheriff that fake-Abigail is not my mother?”

  Tura stilled. “You don’t mess around do you, kid?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  One of Tura’s guys fastened his gloves, and he hopped up into the ring. Sam jumped up beside him.

  “Don’t mistake me for someone you know.” Tura lifted his fists. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

  The first punch flew toward his chest. Sam side-stepped. “So you just let it go? Even knowing it meant Beth was in danger?”

  “Never did back down, either.” Tura, a couple of inches taller but at least half as wide, again flashed that feral smile of his. “It’s really good to see you, kid.”

  Sam didn’t hesitate. It was Tura who’d taught him not to. He seemed to like Beth, and yet that didn’t ring true in his actions. “What happened to you?”

  The old boxer turned away, shaking his head. “Trouble. Bad trouble.”

  “Estelle?”

  He nodded.

  Tura’s young wife had always flirted outrageously with Sam and his dad when they’d come in. Sam had trained with Tura through most of his teen years. Likely a factor in his completing BUD/s—that base of muscle and speed. Estelle’s family, Dominicans, had never approved of her marrying Sam, despite his fame. There wasn’t much Sam Tura had done in his life that people approved of. Being friends with the poor white pastor’s kid from next door wasn’t the first. But Tura and Sam’s father’s friendship had lasted thirty years.

  Sam punched the air where Tura had been. “So now you’re here.”

  Tura nodded. “The bear in his cave.”

  “Not exactly hibernating. A gym and a diner.”

  Tura shrugged with his mouth. “No time for wallowing.”

  “I’m not going to let this go.” Sam got the breath knocked out of him. He blinked up, flat on the mat. “You should have told John.”

  Someone wrapped on the mat. “Knock, knock.” John Mason stood at the edge of the ring, looking up at them. “Should have told me what?” He glanced between them.

  “Sheriff.” Tura nodded and climbed from the ring on the far side.

  Sam crawled to the edge and sat with his elbows over the lowest rung of ropes, liking the advantage of being higher than the sheriff. He looked down at the bigger man. “What’s up?”

  “How was your vacation?”

  “Leg’s healed up.” The red welt where he’d cut the stitches out was visible at the bottom edge of his shorts.

  “I see that.” The sheriff didn’t look convinced.

  “How’s the week been?”

  The sheriff wore jeans and a button-down white shirt under a heavy coat. His badge was clipped to his belt. “Abigail’s been quiet. Ben and Daire tracked the two men who shot down Daire’s plane, but they were killed in an automobile accident hours after the plane went down. Lead’s dead.”

  “Any word on my mom?”

  “Soon as Ben knows something, so will you.”

  “And that’s supposed to satisfy me? Your brother is on the case, and that’s it?” Sam blew out a heavy breath. Sweat laced his shirt. “I have to tell my wife it’s fine. But you’re letting fake-Abigail run around lose when you know we could get what she knows out of her.”

  “I’m not about to condone the torture of anyone.”

  “The lives of my wife and baby are in danger. This town was supposed to be safe. She could have been poisoned, and I’m thanking God with every breath she only got sick a little. It could have cost her the baby.”

  John folded his arms. “Then I guess you’d better be ready to get to work, if I’m doing such an awful job taking care of this town.”

  “Maybe I’m not done with my vacation.” Sam glanced in the direction Beth had gone. Could he protect her better as a sheriff’s deputy—in the loop—or at home by her side all the time?

  The light in the room was on, but he couldn’t see her. He hopped from the ring, landed on his good leg, and strode to the window. Beth was curled in some crazy yoga move he couldn’t imagine contorting his body into.

  He knocked on the window.

  Beth’s back moved with her exhale, and she slowly unfurled, lifting her head to smile at him.

  John said, “Pregnant wife vs. job you didn’t sign up for? Not really a contest.”

  Beth stepped out and laced her slender arm around Sam’s hips. “Hey, sheriff.”

  John clapped. “Right.” He pointed at Sam. “You get cleaned up, and I’ll see you in the sheriff’s office in one hour.” He dropped his finger and turned to Beth. “I asked for volunteers to—”

  “You mean bodyguards?”

  John shrugged. “We don’t have secret service here. You’ll have to make do. I asked, they all volunteered. So while Sam is working, you’ve got an old man posse. But I don’t want you going home without Sam, even if the guys are with you. You are not—under any circumstances—to be alone with that woman pretending to be your mother-in-law.”

  “I want to go to the bakery.�
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  “Good plan,” John said. “Pat and Aaron are there.”

  Sam squeezed Beth’s shoulders. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

  John headed for the door. “Later.”

  “Are you okay with me going to the sheriff’s office? You could come, too, if you want.”

  Beth leaned up on her tip-toes and gave him a quick kiss. “And miss out on the Saturday morning special? I hope it’s some kind of danish. I seriously need frosting right now.”

  **

  Ten minutes after Sam left her at the bakery, three men walked in. The youngest was pushing seventy, and all of them were former Italian mafia. Beth set her tea down on the table. “Good morning.”

  Michael pulled out a chair across from her and plunked himself down. “Just got better.”

  Louis and Sonny were nowhere near as gregarious as their friend. They both said good morning to her. Frannie swept out of the kitchen with a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls. “Hey, fellas. Coffee?”

  “I’ll get it.” Sonny hopped back up, way too sprightly for a man his age, and went to the pot in the corner.

  The bakery was Frannie’s. Her fiancé Matthias, one of Bolton Farrera’s ranch hands, did all the accounting, which left her to do what she loved—baking and spending time with her customers. After Frannie had been targeted by the town’s pastor—a man who’d taken it upon himself to kill all of the town’s elderly and ailing—people had rallied around her. She and Matthias were the sweet, young, in-love couple everyone wanted to see get their happy ever after.

  Frannie saw Beth looking at her and sent her a sweet smile. “How’s your croissant?”

  With chocolate in the middle and on top? “It’s great.” Now she probably had a chocolate moustache.

  Michael lifted his chin, his face dead-pan. “Interesting woman—that one pretending to be your mother-in-law.”

  Beth raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. After their conversation at the library, he’d promised to keep an eye on Abigail. What had he discovered?

  “Been watching her all week.” Michael jabbed his thumb toward his friend. “Though Louis does the night shift. She’s pretty quiet. She had lunch with the mayor.” His face turned sour.