“Hey, while everyone’s here ... an inquiry came through the website yesterday,” Sandy said, wisely changing topics. Not only was Sandy Heff’s fiancée, but she was also a talented graphic designer who’d created and maintained their business website. “It’s an interview request from some national publication.”
“Forward it to me,” Church suggested.
“Already done,” Sandy said.
“You’re not seriously thinking about granting it, are you?” Cage asked.
“We’ve got enough trouble with the locals as it is,” Mad Dog added darkly. “The last thing we need is some nosy reporter snooping around, stirring up shit.”
Cage couldn’t have agreed more, especially since Sanctuary was intended to be a safe, private space, not only for guests, but for those who lived there permanently as well—himself included. He’d just as soon not have anyone look too closely at his past.
“Speaking of snooping, any news on those new receivers?” asked Heff.
“They’re in. Ian called earlier. I’m heading down to Pine Ridge to pick them up early tomorrow morning.” If the gadgets were half as good as Ian said they were—and Cage had no reason to doubt him—they’d have NASA-level surveillance equipment at their fingertips. Yet another reason why they didn’t need someone nosing around. “With luck, we should have everything up and running by tomorrow night.”
“Great. I’ll make popcorn.”
Chapter Three
Bree
Bree wasn’t particularly fond of flying on the best of days. When her flights involved storms, she didn’t care for it at all. Bad weather meant turbulence. Turbulence meant nausea. Nausea meant no food, exacerbating the headaches she usually got from altitude and pressure changes. Beyond that, storms also caused delays, which resulted in missed connecting flights, more in-airport time, and rescheduling on the fly.
She popped a few acetaminophen tablets, grabbed some pretzels and ginger ale, and settled into a semi-quiet spot in the waiting lounge to let her stomach calm. Rain continued to pour on the tarmac beyond the floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, making the interior lights appear even harsher than usual.
The first hour was spent people-watching—something Bree found fascinating. She looked at a person’s body language, facial expressions, and movements and drafted a mental bio that was accurate more often than not. It was an acquired skill, one honed from early on, and had come in handy more than once in predicting her father’s violent outbursts.
Now, it had become second nature, and along with her natural empathetic tendencies, served her well in interviews. Different people required different approaches. Different words. Different tones. Being able to recognize and adapt made people feel at ease, and that meant getting better answers.
After a while, her stomach settled, and she used the unexpected delay and free airport Wi-Fi to start researching her current assignment. Getting to know something about the players and their mission would help her form a game plan to maximize results and minimize her time in—she checked her notes again—Sumneyville.
Unfortunately, her cursory search efforts didn’t result in adding much to the file Charlie had given her. Not a lot of information was readily available on the facility—aptly named Sanctuary—or the people behind it.
The place had a website at least. The home page included a brief mission statement confirming its purpose: to provide assistance to veterans who needed help reacclimating into civilian society.
Bree sighed. Even the description bored her. How could she hope to write a captivating, edgy piece when this was the kind of material she had to work with?
The photos on the site were slightly more interesting. They depicted the place as a scenic mountain resort, a mix of rustic charm and Catskills-heyday posh. As pretty as it was to look at, there was nothing exciting about it. Nothing sensational. Nothing that warranted a trip across the country on the paper’s dime.
So, why was the place even on Charlie’s radar? Was it purely a human-interest story, as Charlie had suggested? Or was there more to it than that?
Maybe Charlie was testing her ability to ferret out information. To take a nonstory and turn it into something that would sell. Or ... he really did believe that these were the only kinds of assignments she could handle. The thought was as depressing as it was motivating.
Did Sanctuary sound like a good cause? Sure. Who wouldn’t support a project to benefit the service men and women of the country? But it didn’t exactly make for riveting copy. How many people would actually want to read about it?
Not many, most likely. People wanted drama; that was what sold articles and got subscriptions. Scandal. Corruption. Sex. Stories that involved a secret men’s club of wealthy playboys, high-ranking government officials, and industry leaders who liked whips and chains and had kinky fetishes.
At first glance, Sanctuary had none of that. But maybe, if she were lucky, she’d find something interesting when she started digging.
By the time her flight called for boarding, Bree was determined to prove once and for all that she was every bit the journalist she purported to be.
Chapter Four
Cage
Ian Callaghan lived with his wife and kids just outside of Pine Ridge. The quaint stone cottage was nestled in the mountains on a large, private parcel, set far enough back that it wasn’t visible from the road.
While it was a beautiful place, Cage had expected something bigger and more ostentatious, what with Ian’s wife Lexi being the co-owner and executive chef of the Celtic Goddess franchise. Then again, Cage knew the importance of not judging a book by its cover, especially when it came to the Callaghans. They were a hell of a lot more than they seemed at first glance.
“Cage,” Ian greeted, opening the door with a friendly smile and a firm handshake. “Glad you could make it. Any problems finding the place?”
“I might have driven past the entrance once or twice,” Cage admitted. “It’s not obvious.”
Ian grinned. “That’s the idea. Come on in.”
Ian led him through the house, which turned out to be a lot bigger than it appeared on the outside, prompting Cage to say as much.
“The original structure belonged to Lexi’s grandmother and had only a few rooms. A cousin of ours in Birch Falls helped us expand. He added some bedrooms and bathrooms, plus a gourmet kitchen for Lex.”
“He did a great job,” Cage commented, looking around the space. Lots of stone, lots of exposed beams, and open space.
“Yeah, he’s damn good at what he does. You might want to give him a call. Johnny Connelly, Connelly Construction. Historical renovations are his passion. I’m sure he’d love to get a look at Sanctuary, especially some of those outbuildings.”
“I’ll mention it to Church.”
Ian opened the door to a room that was a geek’s wet dream. Cage whistled softly as he took in the multitude of screens and components. One image in particular caught his attention.
“Is that ...”
Ian smirked. “A real-time feed of your local prepper group compound in HD? Why, yes, yes, it is. Thought you’d want a quick demo of what you’re getting. Try before you buy and all that.” He tapped a key and the image changed to several men unloading crates from an unmarked delivery truck.