“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Smoke told him.
“Of course it is. But you know as well as I do that bullies like Freed thrive by instilling fear and doubt. Bonus: turning the spotlight on us is a way to divert attention from their real agenda, which, I might point out, we still don’t know.”
Several pairs of eyes turned toward Church. If anyone knew the real reason why some local leaders had it out for them, it was Church, and he still wasn’t talking. They trusted him implicitly and without question, but it would be nice to know exactly what they were up against.
Seconds ticked by in heavy silence before Mad Dog cleared his throat and spoke up, “Hopefully, we’ll know more about their agenda once we get samples of those weapons to the Callaghans for tracing.”
“Doc and Mad Dog are heading down later tonight,” Church said. He turned to look at Cage. “You and Smoke are on surveillance.”
That worked for him. “Good. The sooner we can figure out what they’re up to, the better it will be for everyone.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bree
Bree worked well past midnight, researching the Winston estate. It was indeed a tragic story.
The family-owned resort had been closed for repairs and renovations. An explosion occurred in the kitchen in the middle of the night, and the resulting fire killed the family and one of the employees who’d happened to be in the main building at the time. The only surviving member of the Winston clan was the eldest son, Matthew, who had joined the Navy shortly after graduating high school and was away at training.
There was much speculation about the cause of the blaze, particularly since the place had just undergone an inspection, which had found everything in good, working order. An investigation was launched, led by the newly named fire chief, Jerome “Jerry” Petraski, and Chief of Police Daryl Freed. Within days of the incident, Petraski had cited a faulty gas line in the resort kitchen as a probable cause, and the matter had been closed.
Bree scribbled into her notebook, adding to her list of follow-up items. Obtain arson investigation case files.
Bree stared at the images of a much-younger Matt Winston attending the funerals of his mother, his father, and his younger sister, feeling a stab of sympathy. His expression was stoic, but his eyes were haunted. Haunted and ... angry. She knew what it was like to lose someone you cared for in a swift, cruel twist of fate, just as she knew the ramifications of senseless violence. Granted, she’d been much younger when she lost her mother to cancer and her father to prison, but that kind of thing left a mark on your soul.
The local paper, the Sumneyville Times, had written up a touching memorial insert for the Winstons. Their family history went back to the founding of Sumneyville. By all accounts, they had been well-respected leaders in the local community for generations. The Winston men had served in peacetime and war, starting from before the American Revolution.
Bree found it fascinating. Not only had the Winstons been patriots, but they had been stout abolitionists, too. In the mid-nineteenth century, the family mansion was an important stop on the Underground Railroad.
As the Winston family grew, so did the estate. During the Civil War, when the men had been off fighting in the Union Army, the Winston women—led by Sarah Winston—had opened their home to the families of other Union soldiers, even dedicating an entire wing to the injured and infirmed.
Bree sipped her tea and scrolled down, revealing a photo of Sarah Winston circa 1863. According to the caption, the picture was taken only a few months after the historic clash at Gettysburg. Sarah was a beautiful woman, and Bree instantly recognized the same deep, soulful eyes she’d seen while sitting across from Matt Winston earlier that morning. What would Sarah think of her great-great-plus grandson continuing the tradition of helping others more than a hundred and fifty years later?
It seemed so unfair that a place so rich with history could be destroyed by something as mundane as a gas leak. More importantly, it didn’t feel right. Yes, accidents happened, but something told Bree this hadn’t been one of those times.
Maybe Matt Winston hadn’t thought so either and accused Jerry Petraski of not properly doing his job. That would certainly explain the murderous look in young Matt’s eyes in those funeral photos. It would also provide insight into why Lenny—Jerry’s son—would harbor a grudge against Matt as well.
Did Nick and the other partners know of Matt Winston’s troubled history? And if so, how much?
By midnight, Bree couldn’t stop yawning and prepared for bed. She’d only scratched the surface, but she already had plenty of great backstory and even more items on her list to pursue. One week might not be enough. Sumneyville might not be at the same level as a one-percenter kink club, but it did have its secrets.
Bree was going to uncover them all, one by one.
Chapter Sixteen
Cage
Sumneyville was not an active place after nine p.m., especially midweek. The local bar, O’Malleys, was open, as was the twenty-four-hour mini-mart on the edge of town, but that was about it. Most people were settled in their homes, doing whatever it was normal people did after the sun made its final descent.
Most people but not all. The private prepper compound was abuzz with activity.
“Fuck, this satellite receiver is sexy,” Cage commented, sweeping over the various feeds live-streaming.
Even Smoke, who wasn’t particularly into tech, grunted in agreement.
Cage peered closer at one of the screens, taking in the camo-clad figures coming and going from the underground mine entrance like a dozen worker ants. Thankfully, Mad Dog and Doc had already been in and out, having procured some samples from their stockpile, and were on their way back.
“Good thing they hauled ass tonight,” Cage commented.
Smoke offered a rare smile. “That’s Mad Dog’s doing. Having a woman waiting for you is a
