John cracked the door. “Aaron. You okay, dude?”
The twenty year old kid’s hair was mussed.
“You need some help finding your book?”
Aaron shook his head. His gaze darted around, but nowhere near where John stood at the door. The kid had been through more than anyone his age should have to, having witnessed a horrific event perpetrated by his father and then strong-armed into testifying. The quirks of his personality didn’t help him settle easily. The more worked up he got, the less his words made any sense. The fact he wasn’t verbalizing now didn’t mean anything good.
It wasn’t easy having the kid be part of their new family, but it had been a work in all of them. God teaching them how to give this kid what he needed and blessing their lives when they all saw victories in it. It had been hard but also good.
“Come on, Aaron. It’s time to go.”
“Time to go,” Aaron mumbled. “Time to live. Time to die.”
“Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to make it so.”
Aaron settled a little.
“Come on. Andra and Pat need you to walk with them to the Meeting House.”
It was part of their lockdown procedure—to get everyone congregated where they would be safe. The basement of the Meeting House was essentially a bunker. Though it had never been used, it was still functional. One of the town’s staff positions was to maintain the bunker, so it was clean and stocked with supplies.
Andra stepped into the room and held out her hand. Aaron grasped onto it like she was his safety net. “Let’s go.”
They stepped out into the hall, and Pat slipped his hand in Aaron’s other one. Despite over ten years between their ages, the two had become fast friends, communicating through a mutual appreciation for Minecraft, movies, and the town postal service which Aaron was in charge of.
John waited until the front door of the sheriff’s office had shut before he headed back up to his bedroom to change. His vest hung in the closet next to riot gear and two different sets of fatigues his brother had sent him—forest and winter. John had used the forest ones the night Shadrach had killed Abigail, and he’d had to clean it up. Her body was now on ice, ready for the transport that should have come this morning.
Despite Daire’s infiltration of the team, John was still concerned. With the lockdown, and Daire not having been briefed on how they were getting into town, it would be tough for them to know when the team breached. Unless their lookout saw it.
John scrubbed his hands through his hair.
These people had to be protected. His family, his friends. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to them, and despite what he and Sam had agreed on, Shadrach wasn’t the only wild card in town.
While the bulk of the townspeople would be huddled under the Meeting House with guards on the roof, Beth and Remy had to be in a different location—for everyone’s safety. There was another bunker, more like a panic room, under the ranch house. Bolton had agreed to let them use it.
The plan was in place, and John was confident they were doing everything they could. But it didn’t take away his need to pray through this entire situation.
John grasped his Bible and flicked to the passage he’d been reading that morning to remind himself of the exact wording. God would be his safety, and he prayed for the people of Sanctuary—that no matter what happened, God was in control. Good or bad, it didn’t change the fact they were all in His hands.
His radio chirped the signal. Someone was waiting.
John pressed the button. “Go ahead for Sheriff Mason.”
“There’s a disturbance at number eight, B Street.” Dottie’s voice was laced with anxiety but not in a way that affected her job. “The neighbors are saying Isaac and Maude won’t leave their home and are threatening to barricade themselves inside.”
John set the Bible down and headed over there. It took longer since he had to weave between people making their way to the Meeting House. A couple of times he flashed his lights, but that wasn’t something he had to do so much in this town. In normal life he’d use lights and sirens, but there was such a high percentage who suffered with PTSD here—from when law enforcement had been on scene. Overt police presence tended to cause more problems than it solved most of the time. It was why he wore jeans and a shirt instead of his uniform.
He knocked on their front door. “It’s Sheriff Mason, open up.”
The handle turned, and Isaac cracked it open slowly. Faded denim shirt and jeans, white hair, and a mouth that never seemed to be completely closed. “We’re not leaving, Sheriff.”
“We did a lockdown drill Friday, Isaac.” He stepped into the foyer of the small row house. One of the single bedroom homes in town. “You know how this works.”
“Why are we having another drill, anyway? Maude isn’t walking all the way to the Meeting House if she’ll only have to walk all the way back later. She can’t do it.”
“This isn’t a drill.” John gave him a minute for that to sink in. “I’ll drive you both.”
Isaac blinked. “Not a drill?”
“What? What did he say?” The voice was a low smoker’s rasp but female.
Isaac walked out of sight into the living room. John stayed in the foyer.
After a short silence, the answer came. “You tell him I don’t care if this is real or not. We’re not under invasion. Everything’s fine.”
Isaac’s low mumble replied but not loud enough for John to make out the words.
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving my home again.”
John wasn’t going to let them drag this out. He called out loud enough they’d hear him. “You need to head to the Meeting House. I’m leaving in two minutes if you want a ride.”
He pulled his radio from its holster as he strode outside. John pulled up his call history to Grant’s number and hit redial.
It rang twice. “Yeah, brother?”
John glanced at the mountains. “The lockdown is almost in place.”
“I’ll give you an hour, and we’ll go to phase two.”
“Okay.”
“Other than that?”
John circled, eyeing the ridge of mountains that surrounded the town. Protected, but also locked in. They were going to have to hunker down and prepare to defend themselves. “I’m praying.”
Grant didn’t totally understand John’s new faith, which was likely why he was quiet for a moment. “Mom is, too.”
“You told her?”
“She wants to know what’s going on with her grandson. I wasn’t going to keep this from her. She’s already on me about getting to see Nate on his birthday.”
Their former NFL quarterback brother was currently ensconced at a cabin in Colorado, awaiting testimony, though his wasn’t the one that would aid the outcome of a Miami mob boss’s trial. That was down to the woman who had caught Nate’s eye. Whether it would last or not was something they’d have to wait and see. Separation was never easy, and stress could make or break a relationship. But right now Nate and Cyan were both safe, and John had a town to worry about.
“Tell Mom thanks for praying. We’ll need it, even if we don’t need it.” John wasn’t ever going to discount prayer, whether they ended up in a full-blown crisis or not.
The front door of the house opened.
“Gotta go.”
Grant said, “Later.”
John stowed his phone as Isaac made his way down the front walk. The older man said nothing, just rounded the car and got in the passenger side.
John climbed in and checked his watch. In fifty-six minutes his phone would shut down. They would have to switch to regular walkie-talkies to communicate within Sanctuary. The internet had already been disconnected, and the town’s internal phone system shut off.
It would be up to them to solve this issue. No one was going to help.
**
Beth zipped the backpack closed and lifted it. Before she could swing it over her shoulder Sam took it from her. “I go
t it.”
She let go. They didn’t have time to fight about it, even if the backpack didn’t weigh anything, and she was perfectly capable of carrying it herself.
Sam chuckled, leaned down, and kissed her. Apparently she didn’t have to say it when it was written on her face. “Let’s go get Tura and head out.”
She held his hand. Walking through the house was melancholy. It was the last place she’d been with her mother. Then fake-Abigail had arrived. She didn’t know the woman’s real name, but Abigail had been Beth’s mother-in-law for weeks. Even though she was only pretending. Despite the friction, it had felt real to Beth. She’d tried to care for the woman, and now she was dead.
Stupid pregnant emotions.
Beth swiped the tear from her face. Sam didn’t say anything, but he did squeeze her hand, and he didn’t let go. She rested her face against the outside of his arm. Bigger, stronger than hers. She’d proven her independence to the world. But she would rather be here with him.
Okay, so not in Sanctuary necessarily. A beach on Maui would’ve been better. But mostly it was just Sam and his quiet, competent strength.
He drove the golf cart to Main Street. Sam Tura lived above the gym, and his diner was across the street. He hired staff, gave residents jobs, and a place to be around others. Some people kept to themselves, but the extroverts were always at the diner late into the evening, telling stories and catching up on town gossip.
She hadn’t been here long, but she would miss this place and these people when she left. She’d have to face a world that would expect her to be strong in the face of adversity. Sam would be there to see how she acted when everyone was watching. Would he like that version of her? Maybe he wanted her to need him. But he would also have to cope when she acted aloof, the proud, rich ballerina who didn’t need anyone’s approval. She’d just do what she was going to do.
It was who she’d had to be to survive in that world of backstabbing egos. Sam and his buddies didn’t fight for the top position. Sure, they found creative ways to burn the excess energy—mostly by fighting with each other—but when they were pulled apart there were no hurt feelings. It had nothing to do with emotion. They were simply processing who they were and the job they were asked to do.
“Are you okay?”
Beth glanced at him as he walked back out of the gym followed by Tura. The big man climbed in the back and then squeezed her shoulder. He shot her a smile. But Sam was still waiting for an answer.
“I’m just wondering what’s going to happen.”
Sam gave her another small smile. “Pop would tell me to take it—”
“To the Lord,” she finished with him. “And he would mean it, too.” She glanced at the scenery as he motored them at fifteen miles an hour over to the ranch. “I’ve done it a couple of times. Before a big show if I was more than normally nervous. I think it helped.”
Sam squeezed her hand. “I’m glad.”
Tura was quiet. Beth glanced in his direction, but he was faced out the back, unmoving. Sam caught her gaze and shook his head.
“So we’re hiding out at the ranch?”
Sam nodded. “Some of the others are coming, too. Michael, Louis, Sonny. And Hal.”
“So I get the old man posse?”
“What?” Sam saw her smile and frowned. “What does that mean?”
“When Frannie was being targeted, the guys were her bodyguards.”
“And now they’re yours?”
Beth shrugged. “They care. It’s nice. They remind me a little bit of Pop. Maybe in another life—one where he was a mobster and not a small town minister.”
Sam chuckled. Tura didn’t. She’d have to ask Sam about that if they got a moment.
They pulled up to the ranch house just as the door opened. Bolton, followed by Matthias and then two other guys—Matthias’ brother, Diego, and the other ranch hand whose name Beth didn’t know. They filed down the steps, all armed.
Beth faltered. Sam circled the golf cart and held her hand as she climbed out.
Bolton lifted his chin and headed for his truck. Matthias gave her a low wave, which she returned, and then he said, “The guys are inside with Remy. Down the hall, second door on the right.”
She held Sam’s hand. “Thank you.”
Sam led the way down the steep staircase to the basement, where he punched in a ten-digit code. The door was six inches thick. The inside of the basement had lined walls but had been decorated in man-chic—with a heavy emphasis on brown leather. Remy was at a computer terminal, the screen lit with four black and white images.
Sam kissed her. It was over almost before she realized what he was doing. “I love you.”
“I—” She was going to say, “I know.” But it didn’t come out in time.
Sam strode to the door and shut it behind him.
Seconds later the lock engaged.
Chapter 19
Bolton lowered the binoculars and squeezed the button on his walkie-talkie. “Still nothing.”
His men were at the four sides of the Meeting House roof, on look-out. Diego and Sean, Bolton’s ranch hands, were looking at the south and west sides of town. Matthias had his eye on east, and Bolton had north. Whichever direction the team entered town, they would see their heat signatures in the binoculars. Easy to spot when there wasn’t much else out on the mountainside. Especially not four-somethings moving in formation.
“Nothing here,” Diego reported back. Sean and Matthias said the same.
Hours of standing here. Still no sight of the team. Bolton sat on the edge of the roof and dangled his feet over Main Street. The constant pain in his lower back eased but didn’t go away. It never did, even despite the shot Remy had given him. And if he didn’t get that experimental surgery she’d told him about, the pain would be there for the rest of his life.
Not that it was much of a life anyway. Not with the threat of being paralyzed hanging over him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be up here.”
Bolton didn’t look over at Matthias, his employee. Partner. Friend. He turned his head and hollered back, “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
To his left, Diego snorted. The brothers’ antagonism was nearly legendary, although, the détente had reached a calm place lately. Diego’s ex-girlfriend Izzy was pregnant, which seemed to have mellowed him out a little even if they weren’t actually talking. Izzy’s sister was Frannie the bakery owner—Matthias’s fiancé. The lovebirds were too busy planning their wedding and their future in business together to spare any time getting worked up over Diego.
Matthias’s chuckle came first. “You do know you sound like an old man getting grouchy because the weather turned cold.”
“It’s the air pressure. Makes my joints ache.”
More snickers, from all around this time. The boys had become his family, which left much to be desired given how much they bickered, but it was all he had anymore.
“Then why don’t you go downstairs,” Sean said from behind him. “I’m sure Nadia Marie will be more than happy to help you get warm.”
If he’d been within arm’s length, Bolton would probably have clocked him for that. It was the first time any of them had said her name out loud. Usually it was just pointed looks and veiled encouragements.
“Don’t lose focus.”
Being around Nadia Marie any more than he had in the past wasn’t going to help. He needed to concentrate on functioning through the pain. She knew his weakness now. She knew the reason why he could never be the man she wanted or needed. Seeing her, talking to her, helping her navigate the fact her brother was in town—all of that would bring them closer, and there was no way he could do that and not cause her pain in the end. It simply wasn’t worth the heartache.
Bolton was meant to be alone.
He lifted the binoculars again. The view was mostly green, though he could see some texture in the ground and the occasional spark as an animal roamed through the trees. He swept left to right—and fou
nd them inside the boundary line. Four heat signatures, each one the size and shape of an adult human male. The binocular readout gave him distance, elevation, height, and a basic mass that wasn’t ever entirely accurate. But it gave him enough to tell which was which from what he’d read of Tommy and what John had told him about Daire.
None of their gear gave off any readouts, so they weren’t packing anything more than the usual nasty, lethal stuff.
“I have contact.” He didn’t lose sight of them, but lifted his walkie-talkie to make sure the guys could hear without him raising his voice. “Maintain your positions in case there are more we don’t know about.”
“Yes, sir.” Sean did that whenever Bolton donned the mantle of the authority he’d had in his former life. He knew it was a respect thing, but the truth was that none of them knew who and what he had been before he came to Sanctuary.
Every day he prayed they would never find out.
“Sean, head downstairs. Inform the Sheriff the breach has been confirmed. Tell everyone to prepare.”
“Yes, sir.” Boots pounded gravel behind him toward the door that led downstairs.
Matthias spoke through the walkie-talkie. “What happens now?”
“John will contact the ranch house bunker and let Sam know the team is here. Then he’ll call Grant. The director will initiate the next stage emergency protocols.”
The lockdown would be elevated to the scenario where they defended the town, neutralized the threat to Sanctuary, and worked to save as many people as they could at the same time. It was up to them to protect the residents.
The military wasn’t going to come and help, not when the town’s anonymity was more important. They had enough able-bodied residents, and the two pilots who flew the weekly delivery transport weren’t going to be much help. But the doctor that had visited twice now, since the medical center burned down and their doctor was killed, might come in handy. They had little more than basic emergency medical supplies.
If it got bad enough that they needed an army and air cover, then there was a bigger problem. No one wanted a war on American soil if it could be avoided. What was the point in being cut off if they weren’t ever actually cut off? Bolton just hoped they could get through this without any major injuries.
Sanctuary Breached WITSEC Town Series Book 3 Page 21
