Cage wondered absently if he would ever find someone to put a dopey smile on his face like that, then pushed that thought away. It wasn’t likely, especially since he wasn’t looking. Nor did he want to. He was content with his life, just the way it was—peaceful, rewarding, and surrounded by good friends who didn’t meddle and appreciated his obsession with digital toys.
That reminded him; he needed to drive down to Pine Ridge and pick up the sweet new components Ian Callaghan had set aside for him. Now that Mad Dog and Kate were off nesting in their own cabin, Doc had moved into Mad Dog’s trailer, and Cage had the place all to himself. He was well on his way to filling every last inch of it with sexy custom tech.
“Thanks, guys,” Kate said, closing her notebook. “Great ideas. I’m going to make a list and talk to Sam about placing an order.”
Kate pressed a quick kiss to Mad Dog’s cheek and scampered away. Mad Dog watched her go, his expression morphing from adoration to concern.
“What’s going on?” Doc asked. “Kate seems off today.”
“Maybe Mad Dog isn’t satisfying his woman.” Heff smirked, earning a scathing glance from Mad Dog.
“I’m satisfying my woman just fine.”
“Luther and Kylie publicly announced a date,” Sandy explained. “They’re tying the knot next month.”
Cage grimaced, feeling a pang of sympathy for Kate.
Luther Renninger was Kate’s ex, a sneaky little weasel who had “invested” thousands of dollars from local businesses in shady funds and was currently being investigated by the IRS.
And Kylie was Kate’s younger sister. Despite the fact that Kate’s family’s business was one of those Luther had “borrowed” money from, her family had stood staunchly by the weasel—and turned their backs on Kate in the process.
Now, Kate was living at Sanctuary with Mad Dog and hadn’t seen or spoken with her family for months. For someone with a heart as big as Kate’s, who’d put her family first for years, it was a hard pill to swallow.
“Next month? That’s fast,” Doc mused aloud. “They just announced their engagement a few weeks ago, right? Think he’s trying to protect his assets before the IRS takes everything?”
Cage shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way.”
Heff sat back, looking amused. “My guess is, there’s at least one shotgun involved.”
Mad Dog’s scowl deepened, which suggested that Kate was probably thinking in a similar line. Criminal activities aside, Renninger was a narcissist and a playboy—not exactly a father figure or paragon of family values.
“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
