Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four

by Abbie Zanders

  She wasn’t likely to get any more from the people of Sumneyville either. In fact, Nick had strongly suggested she leave town quietly. Lenny and the others believed she was already gone, and that was a good thing. If she suddenly reappeared and started asking more questions, it could prove dangerous.

  Since Bree had gotten a glimpse of Lenny in action and confirmed that he had a shady agenda—though she still wasn’t sure exactly what that agenda was—she agreed with Nick’s suggestion. As much as she would like to believe she had what it took to be an investigative reporter, she didn’t. Asking questions? Online research? Reading people and forming theories? Yeah, she was all over that. Skulking around the woods at night with the real possibility of getting shot or worse? No, thanks.

  With a heavy heart, Bree drove back to the motel, gathered her things, and checked out. She made it to the airport without incident. The flight was long and uneventful. She even managed to doze off a few times on the plane, which was a first.

  It felt strange to be back in California. The familiar sense of relief she usually felt when coming home wasn’t there. The air was too dry. The temperature was too hot. There were too many cars and too many people. Had the smog been that bad when she left?

  After completing her journey with a three-hour traffic battle on I-5, she was finally home. Her apartment was exactly as she’d left it, but it seemed starker after spending a week at Martha’s with her overabundance of furniture and knickknacks on every available surface.

  She dumped her luggage in the bedroom and pulled out her phone, firing off a text to Toni, letting her know she was back. She also kept her promise to Nick.

  Bree: I’m home.

  The response was immediate despite it being after midnight in Pennsylvania. The fact that he’d been waiting to hear from her made her smile.

  Nick: Glad to hear it. How was the trip?

  Bree: Long but uneventful. I’m beat. What are you still doing up?

  Nick: Stargazing.

  Her chest tightened. She hated the feeling. Hated that she wasn’t there stargazing with him.

  Bree: Alone?

  Nick: Of course. I don’t let just anyone up in my tree house, you know.

  That tight knot loosened, and warmth flowed through her. Moving to the window, she opened the curtains and put her hand on the glass. Even though night had fallen, she couldn’t see the stars with the same clarity she had on that mountain.

  Bree: Can any of that fancy equipment of yours take a picture for me?

  She stared at the phone, waiting for an answer. After several minutes, another text came through with a beautiful image of a deep midnight-blue sky glittering with stars. It looked like something out of an astronomy textbook, but something told her it wasn’t.

  Nick: How’s that?

  Bree: Perfect. Thank you.

  Nick: You’re welcome. Get some rest. You’ve had a long day.

  Bree: I will. You, too.

  Bree took a hot shower to wash away the ickiness of public travel but still felt in a funk. What she needed was some comfort food and uninterrupted sleep to start feeling like herself again. She dressed in comfortable loungewear and scanned her freezer. Nothing looked appealing. Finally, she just picked a frozen entrée at random and was about to pop it into the microwave when Toni came in, bearing Bree’s favorite takeout. Tired as she was, it was good to see Toni again.

  Bree grabbed some plates and a bottle of wine while Toni set things out on the coffee table in the living space.

  “So ...”

  “So?” Bree asked.

  “Start talking.”

  Bree did. She told Toni everything, beginning with the shitty trip and the monster pothole and filling her in up to her ill-advised attempt at being an investigative reporter and subsequent rescue. She didn’t break any confidences, but Toni was able to fill in some of the blanks on her own. By the time she was finished, the bottle of wine was nearly empty, and Toni was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Holy shit, Bree. That’s a hell of a story.”

  “I know.”

  “Charlie’s going to flip.”

  “If I tell him.”

  Toni gaped at her. “If you tell him? Bree, this is it, girlfriend. The opportunity you’ve been waiting for!”

  “I thought so, too, but now, I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “That’s the jet lag talking,” Toni said, getting up and collecting the remnants of their meal. “Get some rest. Clarity will return with reason in the morning.”

  Bree dragged herself into bed, Toni’s words fresh in her mind. Toni had been right. This was an opportunity to be seen as something more than a fluff journalist whose stories were used as filler between the meatier, juicier stories.

  The question was, was that still what she wanted? And if so, why did she feel sick when she thought about doing it?

  * * *

  Even sleeping for a solid ten hours wasn’t enough to get rid of the sluggish feeling plaguing her. Bree had to drag herself out of bed and force herself to take a shower before making it into the office. Along the way, she picked up an expensive and highly caffeinated coffee, but it couldn’t compare to Sam’s special brew.

  She hadn’t been at her desk for more than a few minutes before Hunter came by, helping himself to her newly refreshed cache of Squirrel Nut Zippers.

  “Toni tells me I might be buying takeout.”

  “I guess that depends. How was Vegas?”

  “Didn’t pan out,” Hunter said, popping an unwrapped candy into his mouth. “Couldn’t get into the inner circle.”

  Bree didn’t believe that for a moment. Not only had he scored an invitation into the private club, but the man could also charm the habit off a nun when he turned up the wattage. No, if Hunter didn’t get the story, it was because there was something else he wanted more. Namely, Toni. The fact that he didn’t seem particularly upset about not getting the story only corroborated her theory.

  “You’re a big softy, you know that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course not. And she’s totally worth it.”

  “De Rossi!” Charlie barked across the team room. “In my office.”

  Bree pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ve been summoned.”

  “So, am I getting pad thai or Indian?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.” Bree grabbed a pen and pad and started walking toward Charlie’s office, calling over her shoulder, “And stop eating all my candy.”

  “Close the door,” Charlie commanded when she entered.

  She took in his red face, thinned lips, and the pulsing vein at his temple and figured he wasn’t happy about Hunter’s failure to get into the sex club. No big surprise there since that was supposed to be the feature piece in next month’s edition.

  “Talk to me. What do you have? Please tell me you’ve got something.”

  Bree took a seat in front of his desk, watching as he paced back and forth behind it. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.

  “I do,” she said carefully. “I was able to tour the facility and got to know some of the owners as well as some of the locals.”

  “And?”

  “And?”

  He stopped pacing and put both hands on his desk, piercing her with his laser-like gaze. “And do you want to tell me why you felt the need to extend your stay in Nowheresville or why you got our research department looking into Mafia dons or why you contacted a private arson investigator?”

  “Just following up on some things. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s.”

  He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. If he hoped to intimidate her, he’d have to try harder than that. “You’re not the only one who can read people, De Rossi, and right now, you look like a journalist who’s sitting on one hell of a story.”

  Bree kept her expression impassive. Charlie was guessing, nothing more. “Do I?”

  “I want your article on my desk on Friday, got it?
”

  “Yes, sir. Friday.”

  * * *

  Bree stayed late to catch up on the nonessential emails she’d ignored while she was away. She picked up some takeout on the way home and then unpacked the rest of her things with the intention of doing laundry.

  When she unzipped the suitcase with the soap from Zeigler’s, she lifted the bag to her nose and inhaled deeply. The scents of sandalwood and evergreen hit her first, bringing images of Nick to mind and a pang to her chest. How was it possible to feel such a sense of loss toward someone she’d only known a few days?

  She set those soaps off to the side and then pulled out the others she’d picked up for herself and Toni.

  With clothes in the washer and a glass of wine on the table, Bree opened her laptop and stared at the screen. She still didn’t know what she was going to do. She could write the piece as originally intended with interviews and pictures and topical backstory. Or she could write something that would get her noticed.

  Unable to make a decision, she decided to create drafts of both.

  The original story was good. It told of the men who had started Sanctuary with the idea of helping others and the wonderful things they were doing there. It was inspiring and hopeful, the feel-good article it was meant to be.

  The unexpected story was better. Way better. Bree employed her love of creative writing to craft a tale of intrigue and collusion with elements of a generations-old feud, small-town corruption, hidden agendas, cults, firebugs, and scandal.

  She was putting equal time into both, adding layers, pulling bits and pieces from her notes, photos, and personal observations. Two completely different stories yet two sides of the same coin.

  Midway through the week, a package came for Bree. She got excited when she saw the Pennsylvania postmark, knowing instinctively that it was from Nick. She opened it, finding a small, high-tech gadget in the shape of a half-sphere along with a card that read: I’ve programmed it with the date and the geographical coordinates of Sanctuary, so no matter where you are, we can see the same sky. —Nick

  A rush of emotion washed over her as she plugged it in and turned off the lights. Sure enough, the holographic image of the night sky appeared on her ceiling. Added bonus: the device had audio as well, playing a quiet symphony of the crickets, frogs, and owls she’d heard that night in the hammock.

  It was quite possibly the nicest, sweetest, most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her. With her star map, the night sounds, and the scents of the sandalwood and evergreen soaps on her nightstand, she could close her eyes and almost imagine she was back on that mountain.

  The next day, she heard back from the arson investigator as well. He refused to tell her what he’d found over the phone and requested they meet for lunch instead. Over fish tacos from a street vendor on a bench in a public park, he told her what he’d found.

  “Lost files, missing reports. And the documents I did manage to get my hands on had key pieces blacklined or redacted entirely. I’ll keep going if you want me to, but I recommend against it. This smacks of special ops.”

  Bree thanked him for his time and said she’d think about it and get back to him.

  Later that night, Bree was lying in bed, staring at her stars, when the pieces started coming together. Former Navy SEALs refusing to publicly defend themselves against inflammatory accusations. Sam’s plea to stop looking into the fires. Lenny hiding unmarked crates in abandoned mines under the watchful surveillance of Sanctuary. The arson investigator’s cautionary warning.

  It was all starting to make sense.

  Just because the guys at Sanctuary weren’t actively serving didn’t mean they weren’t active, nor did it mean they weren’t still serving and protecting.

  And Bree knew exactly what she had to do.

  * * *

  Charlie looked up from his screen after reading her article, displeasure etched in his craggy features. “This is what you’re giving me?”

  She sat tall and met his gaze head-on. “It’s what you sent me out there for, isn’t it? A feel-good piece about heroes among us.”

  “What about everything else? The Mafia ties? The arson investigation? Those criminal record requests you charged to your expense account?”

  Bree shrugged. “They didn’t pan out.”

  “Didn’t pan out,” he echoed.

  “Nope. Dead ends, all of them.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I knew you didn’t have it in you, De Rossi.”

  “You’re right, sir. I don’t, which is why I’ve decided to give you this, too.” She stood and slid a piece of paper across his desk.

  He scanned it, his frown growing deeper as he did. “You’re resigning?”

  She nodded. “It’s been a great experience, sir, but it’s time for me to move on.”

  “Move on? To where? To what?”

  She smiled, feeling freer than she had in years. “I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

  As Bree left the office, she could have sworn she saw Charlie smile.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Cage

  Cage reread the article for the hundredth time, feeling a sense of pride well up in his chest. Bree definitely had a knack for storytelling.

  She’d made Sanctuary sound good, too, with no allusions to scandal or cultish behavior or of sketchy pasts with shady innuendo. True to her word, she’d done exactly what she’d said she was going to do.

  Though it had barely been a month since he’d awoken with her in his arms, it felt like so much longer. Not a morning went by without the disappointment of waking up, only to realize he’d only dreamed of her in bed beside him, nor a night when he didn’t look up at the stars and wonder if she was looking heavenward, too. While she’d texted him a thank-you for the holographic star map projector, he had no idea if she actually used it.

  He’d tried to contact her several times, but his attempts went unanswered. Her phone number was no longer in service. Emails to her work address bounced. Even the snail mail he’d sent was returned with a bright yellow No Longer at This Address, No Forwarding Address label.

  A general inquiry to the Sentinel Voice revealed that she was no longer with the company, which sparked even more questions.

  No longer officially became his least favorite phrase.

  Did her abrupt departure have anything to do with her Sanctuary assignment? And if so, had it been her decision or someone else’s?

  He didn’t know because he couldn’t ask.

  Oh, he could have found her if he wanted to, but he had to respect her wishes. Clearly, she hadn’t cared to share any of that with him. She knew where he was. If she wanted to get in touch with him, she would.

  The fact that she hadn’t stung more than he’d thought it would. He’d allowed himself to get too involved even though he’d known it would be a temporary thing. Any hopes he’d had of her feeling similarly had been eroding every day that went without a word from her.

  He kept busy and tried not to dwell on it. Summer became fall. The leaves changed, and the weather grew colder. Mad Dog and Kate tied the knot in a private ceremony in October. Cage put a lot of time into getting suites ready for the half-dozen new residents expected in by the end of the year. They were also keeping a close eye on the mines and Freed/Petraski activity, but things had settled down, as many in the prepper group turned their attention to hunting season. He and Doc spent a good deal of time ensuring the private property was well marked and off-limits.

  October turned into November. The newcomers began to arrive, which provided somewhat of a distraction. They seemed like good guys, an eclectic mix of sailors, soldiers, and airmen.

  Then, Thanksgiving was upon them. Sam and Kate put on an incredible feast. The dining room was filled with old friends and new ones. Cage enjoyed the day with the rest of them, but beneath the smiles and laughter, he couldn’t help but wonder where Bree was and what she was doing. If she was okay. If she was safe. If she was happy.

&nbs
p; Eventually, Cage left the festivities and went back to his trailer, unsurprised to see a light covering of snow on the ground. The extreme weather variability no longer fazed him. The first year, it had been seventy degrees and sunny on Thanksgiving Day. This year, it was a brisk thirty-eight and snowing.

  When he got to his trailer, he kicked off his boots, turned up the heat, and sat down. He didn’t feel like doing anything really, but he finally opted to stream a movie. As he was settling in, his phone dinged with an incoming text.

  Unknown: Happy Thanksgiving. Any meteor showers tonight?

  Bree! His heart leaped.

  Cage: Happy Thanksgiving. Hard to tell. It’s snowing here.

  Unknown: Here, too.

  Clearly, she wasn’t in SoCal any longer.

  Cage: Where are you? Are you okay?

  His phone rang. He picked it up immediately.

  “I’m fine.” The sound of her voice was like a balm to his soul. “I hope you don’t mind me calling. It’s easier than texting. Plus, I wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

  “I don’t mind. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. Holidays can be hard sometimes. I figured you’d understand.”

  He did understand.

  “Normally, I’d spend the day with my cousin Toni, but she and her boyfriend eloped. They’re down in Cozumel on their honeymoon.”

  “Nice.”

  “They actually asked me to go along, but that would have been weird, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled, just happy to hear her voice. “Yeah, it would have. We had a wedding here, too. Mad Dog and Kate.”

  “Yeah? Good for them.”

  They talked for a long time. She asked about everyone and how they were doing. He told her about the new wing and how they’d been busting their asses to get it done in time for the holidays. It was pleasant, polite, topical conversation but not what he really wanted to know. Like where she was. What she was doing. Why she was no longer working at the Sentinel Voice.

  If she missed him as much as he missed her.

  The problem was, he didn’t know how to bring up any of that without sounding like a stalker.