Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four

by Abbie Zanders

  Cage felt a small but sharp pang of envy, knowing that kind of bond was not in the cards for him. Even if Bree accepted him and the truth about his past, she was leaving for California in less than twenty-four hours, and chances were, after this morning, he’d never see her again.

  “How’d it go?” Smoke asked, laying down his tablet and sweeping another glance toward the kitchen.

  “Good. Mr. O’Farrell was right about everything. Nearly a hundred years old, and his memory is better than mine,” Doc answered.

  “For anything pre-1970,” Sam said, bringing out a carafe of coffee and two extra mugs. “Just don’t ask him about anything that happened in the last decade.”

  As a local, Sam was familiar with Kate’s old neighbor. The man loved having company and telling stories about the “old days” to anyone who would listen. Even though Kate had been relieved of her Meals on Wheels delivery duties, she continued to drive down at least once a week to bring him one of her homemade dishes and spend some time chatting. More often than not, Doc went along, fascinated by his tales of local mining history. Not to mention, the old guy was an ally of sorts. He didn’t like the new Sumneyville leadership and wasn’t shy about saying so.

  Doc chuckled. “True enough. But to be fair, I’ll probably remember my first fifty years most vividly, too.”

  “Freed’s definitely using the place for storage,” Cage told Smoke. “We managed to get everything up and online. If anything goes in or out, we’ll know about it in HD.”

  “Is that your homemade peach muffins I smell?” Doc asked hopefully, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Sure is,” Sam answered with a smile. “I picked up a bushel at Obermacher’s this weekend. They should be just about done.”

  “Can I get one to go, Sam?” Cage asked.

  “Of course. I’ll wrap some up for you.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  As Sam went back into the kitchen, Doc turned to him. “Not like you to miss breakfast, especially when Sam makes muffins. What gives? The reporter?”

  Cage nodded. “I’m meeting her for breakfast later.” It was still too early to call, so his immediate plans involved a shower, shave, and an hour or two of sleep.

  “I thought she was leaving.”

  “She is but not until later tonight.”

  “Good luck, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bree

  The grandfather clock on the landing tolled the passing of yet another hour, and Bree had yet to sleep. Not only were Lenny’s accusations still floating around the back of her mind, but now, the knowledge that Nick was basically everything she’d tried to get away from was rolling around back there, too.

  She spent most of the night going through the research Toni had compiled. Despite what Toni had said about not having much, she’d created a document summarizing the basic facts on each of the Sanctuary partners.

  Since Bree was already vaguely familiar with Matthew Winston’s family history, she started by skimming over his files. The son of a wealthy but philanthropic family, he’d gone into the Navy shortly after his high school graduation, following the tradition of his father, grandfather, and beyond.

  Cole Watson had been a Navy SEAL combat medic. According to Toni’s research, Watson had entered the Navy Hospital Corps upon enlistment to receive formal medical training. Then, after going through the SEAL training, he’d completed the Special Operations Combat Medic course.

  Steve Tannen was a demolitions expert who’d spent twelve years in the service before ending his military career after a cave-in. Like Winston, he’d followed in his father’s footsteps. Steve Senior had been in one of the first graduating classes of SEALs back in the ’60s.

  Hugh Bradley’s history was slightly more interesting. He’d grown up in the Louisiana bayou, and after his father was murdered in a barroom knife fight, he’d had a few brushes with local law enforcement before enlisting.

  Brian Sheppard—the big guy Toni had dubbed the Incredible Hunk—was a Midwest farm boy with a degree in architectural engineering. After seeing the greenhouses he’d designed, Bree wasn’t at all surprised.

  She’d saved Nick’s file for last. It was the one she was most interested in. Fortunately or unfortunately, it didn’t contain much more than the bombshells Toni had already dropped.

  More importantly, it didn’t hold the answers she wanted. Like, why hadn’t he shared anything about his past when she’d spoken about hers? And how close was he to his family? Were they still in touch, or had he walked away from that life and tried not to think about it, as she had?

  Also of note, there was no recent information on any of them.

  Frustrated, Bree shoved her laptop to the side and got off the bed, taking a moment to stretch her back and neck. She wouldn’t have answers until she talked to Nick and maybe not even then, depending on how much he decided to share.

  She switched gears, returning to her discussion with Lenny. The more she replayed the conversation in her mind, the more bothered she was by it. What was his end goal?

  As a police officer, even one from a town as small as Sumneyville, he had to know that hearsay and conjecture without evidence were essentially useless. In fact, the only thing he could hope to accomplish was to taint her impressions enough to paint the Sanctuary guys in a bad light.

  Then, there was the way he’d told her. It’d felt staged—from his choice of location in the shadows to a recitation of so-called facts that, looking back now, had sounded rehearsed.

  She’d interviewed a lot of people over the years and become adept at determining who was telling the truth and who was spinning tales.

  The thing was, in almost every interview, someone lied about something in some degree or fashion. Sometimes, it was as simple as someone exaggerating the truth or omitting certain facts to paint a rosier picture. Other times, the motivation came from a need to manipulate and misdirect, to orchestrate, to hide ugly truths—basically, everything that Lenny had accused the men of Sanctuary of doing.

  Bree had to figure out which she was dealing with. She knew what she wanted to believe, but wanting something didn’t make it true. She could only hope that, after talking to Nick, she’d have a clearer picture.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Bree

  Bree checked the time on her phone and sighed. She’d stalled as long as she could. There was no point in putting it off. Nick wasn’t coming. Her questions, like her early morning texts, would remain unanswered for the time being.

  Pulling the zipper closed on her last suitcase, Bree took one last look around the room for anything she might have missed. Finding nothing, she gathered her luggage and carried it downstairs. She said her good-byes to Martha and Penny, and then she loaded up the Mustang and set a course for Pine Ridge.

  The day was overcast, the sky threatening to open up at any minute and rain buckets. It fit her mood. The weather had been awful the day she arrived; it seemed only fitting that it should be on the day she left, too. But since it wasn’t raining yet, she decided to chance it and keep the top down for one last ride.

  She made it to Pine Ridge without incident. The same dark-haired woman was at the garage when she arrived, talking to someone in front of one of the open bays. They both turned when Bree pulled into the lot, but by the time she got out of the car and extracted her bags, the man was gone.

  “Nicki, right?”

  “Right. How’d you like the Mustang?”

  “It was awesome,” Bree told her honestly, handing in the keys. “Makes me want to buy one.”

  “So, what’s stopping you?”

  “As much as I love the car, I need something more practical as a daily driver. Besides, I don’t think it would be as fun to drive on clogged freeways as it is on curvy mountain roads. Is my rental fixed?”

  “Yep, it’s all done, and everything’s squared with the agency.”

  Bree was amazed. She’d thought she’d have to jump t
hrough hoops and waste hours dealing with insurance agents and customer service. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Did you enjoy your time in Sumneyville?”

  “I did. Very scenic.”

  Nicki smirked. “In more ways than one, right?”

  Bree laughed. “I take it, you’ve met the guys who run Sanctuary then.”

  Nicki nodded. “I have. I look forward to reading your article.”

  “Thanks. I hope I can do it justice.”

  After signing a few papers, Bree transferred her luggage to the rental, impressed by how good it looked.

  “You do good work. I can’t even tell anything happened.”

  Nicki smirked. “Sean’s the best when it comes to fixing cars, but he’s shit with a paint sprayer. That’s all me.”

  “I heard that,” shouted a disembodied voice from the bay.

  Nicki winked at Bree. “I love getting him riled up. Have a safe trip back.”

  Bree thanked her and was once again on her way.

  * * *

  Cage

  The moment Cage’s eyes popped open, he knew he’d fucked up. His internal clock told him he’d slept a lot longer than the single hour he’d intended.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  His phone held missed texts from Bree from hours earlier. He’d forgotten to switch it off Silent mode after returning with Doc, but even if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have heard it over the pounding of rain on the trailer roof; it was really coming down.

  He groaned when he saw the time, wishing he’d thought to ask when Bree was planning to leave. She’d said only that she was flying out late that night, but she might have left early to allow for bad weather and increased travel times.

  He fired off a quick apology, followed by a question and a request, hoping he wasn’t too late but fearing he was. When no response was forthcoming, he dialed Callaghan Auto. Sean picked up on the second ring.

  “Sean, it’s Cage. Has Bree been there yet?”

  “Been and gone, man.”

  “Fuck. Thanks.”

  * * *

  Bree

  After driving the powerful Mustang for a week, the rental sedan was underwhelming at best.

  The sky continued to darken along with her mood. With every mile, the feeling that she’d left something important behind grew.

  Before long, the rain started, but it didn’t come alone. High winds and dime-sized hail made driving difficult, and after two near misses with tractor-trailers on the highway, Bree was a nervous wreck. By the time she came upon the next exit sign, she was driving at a crawl with her wipers at full speed and her hazard lights on. The large, brightly lit twenty-four-hour diner was a welcome sight for her sore eyes, and Bree decided to wait out the worst inside.

  The place was busy and getting busier by the minute as other weary travelers had the same idea. She was shown to a small two-person table in the back and given a daily-specials menu.

  She ordered soup and a sandwich, wanting to keep it light. She was already feeling the effects of a sleepless night and couldn’t afford to get lethargic with the remaining drive ahead of her. While she waited, she checked her phone and saw several notifications. One was a text alert from the airline, stating that her flight was delayed.

  Of course it is, she thought miserably. Because what is flying without bad weather?

  Another notification was a missed call from Nick’s number along with several texts.

  Nick: Sorry I missed your texts.

  Nick: Are you still around?

  Nick: Call me when you get this. Please.

  Bree stared at the messages and then put her phone facedown on the table while she decided how—and if—to respond. She was still feeling salty that he’d blown her off the night before and even more so that he hadn’t seen fit to reach out before she left.

  Rain continued to come down in sheets outside the window. The television mounted above the diner’s counter was tuned to the weather. She glanced up at the bright reds and purples on the map, reading the closed captions as they streamed across the bottom of the screen. A front that was supposed to move through quickly had stalled and was now expected to dump more rain on the area than originally predicted. Flash-flood alerts continued to pop up, and drivers were now being asked to stay off the roads if possible.

  The diner continued to fill as more people heeded the warnings. Bree heard one of the truckers say that there’d been a pileup on the interstate and that the road was closed until they could get it cleaned up.

  A shiver went down Bree’s spine. If she hadn’t pulled off when she did, she might have been involved in the accident.

  When the waitress came by a third time to ask if there was anything else, Bree took the hint and paid the check. Feeling tired and no longer in a hurry to get to the airport, she checked into the nearby budget motel. Once settled, she fired off a quick text to Toni, telling her about the weather situation and that she would get a later flight.

  Then, she settled into bed, turned on the television, and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Bree

  The room was dark when Bree awoke, feeling not much better than before. Her nap had been restless, her mind refusing to rest until it worked things out. At the forefront of her thoughts: Nicholas Fumanti.

  She pulled up his earlier texts, and with a heavy exhale, she hit the Call button. He picked up on the first ring, greeting her with an apology.

  “Bree, I’m sorry I missed our breakfast today. I really wanted to see you.”

  His voice felt like a warm hug. Nick wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t. Her instincts couldn’t be that wrong.

  “What happened?”

  “I fell asleep,” he said miserably.

  “Late night, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You weren’t giving someone else a field trip, were you?” she asked half-jokingly. The thought of Nick providing a personal tour to anyone else made her chest feel as if it were filled with lead.

  “What? No! Of course not.”

  His denial was immediate and sounded sincere, but she wasn’t letting him off that easy, not with Lenny’s accusations rolling around in her head.

  “So, just to be clear ... you don’t make a habit of taking women in the woods and seducing them?”

  “No, I don’t. In fact ... you were the first.”

  Her heart leaped, and the warmth intensified. No man had ever been able to elicit this kind of reaction. He could be lying, but her bullshit detector remained blissfully silent.

  Which reminded her why she’d called him in the first place. “Why didn’t you tell me, Nick?”

  “It never occurred to me to tell you I hadn’t,” he asked, sounding confused.

  It took her a moment to realize they were on different pages. “No, I’m not talking about that.”

  “Then, what are you talking about?”

  Once again, doubt reared its ugly head. She wondered just how many things fell into the things he didn’t tell her but should have category and then realized what a loaded question that was. A man like Nick probably had plenty of closely guarded secrets. Bree decided to tackle one issue at a time, starting with the most important.

  “Let’s start with who you are. Or more specifically, who your family is.”

  Seconds ticked by in silence.

  “Ah, that.” She could picture his hand rising to rub the back of his neck. “I never attempted to hide my identity from you.”

  “You failed to mention that your parents are from two major organized crime families. Did you think I wouldn’t run at least a cursory background check on the people behind Sanctuary?”

  “A cursory background check would have shown that I’m not part of that life anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. Surely, that’s something you can understand.”

  Touché and bravo, she thought as a sense of relief washed over her. “It’s still relevant, don’t you think?”


  Another pause, followed by an audible exhale. “To anyone else? No, it’s not. But you ... you’re right. I should have said something, especially since you were honest with me.”

  Not completely honest. “Then, why didn’t you?”

  “I was afraid it would change the way you looked at me. I mean, you told me you literally moved to the other side of the country to get away from all that.”

  “Why would you care what I thought?” she pressed. “Because you didn’t want it to affect how I wrote the article?”

  “At first, yes. My personal background has no bearing whatsoever on what we’re doing here, and I didn’t want it coloring your perception, especially when it hit so close to home for you.”

  “You said, at first.”

  “After spending the day and night with you, I got selfish. It wasn’t about the article anymore; it was about me. I knew our time together was limited, and I didn’t want to waste a moment talking about that. Plus, when you thought back on things, I didn’t want you to think about them when you thought about me. Does that make sense?”

  He wasn’t the smoothest or sweetest talker, but his earnest words wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

  “Yes, it does. And for what it’s worth, that’s not what I think about when I think about you.”

  Silence, and then he asked softly, “What do you think about when you think of me, Bree?”

  So many things. His shy smile. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about meteors and tech gadgets. How his ass looked in a pair of jeans while straddling a horse and his broad shoulders bared in the moonlight. Earth-rocking orgasms and the scents of evergreen and sandalwood.

  Aloud, she said, “Mountain pies and hammocks.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yep. Why? Did something else happen that I’ve forgotten?”

  He made the same low, growly, humming sound she’d heard once before—when they were in the tree stand and he focused all of his skill and attention on her—and just like then, the noise resonated through her girliest of bits.

  Bree pressed her thighs together and clamped her lips shut, deciding it was time to change the subject before the conversation devolved into phone sex—or worse, she admitted to him she was only an hour away, drove up there, and demanded a repeat performance. “So, why were you so tired this morning?”