“Which is what would make having someone on the inside invaluable,” Ian said, his blue eyes practically dancing with mischief.
“What do you know that we don’t know?” Mad Dog asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Officially, nothing. Just a theory I’m working on. If and when something pans out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Fair enough.”
“The most important thing is to not tip Freed off. We need him to think he’s on top of everything.”
“Do you think that’s why he moved some of his inventory?” Cage mused aloud. “Because he suspects a traitor in his midst?”
Jake lifted his big shoulders in a shrug. “Anything’s possible. Who knows? Maybe he’s rattled because there’s a reporter snooping around. How’d the interview go, by the way?”
“Less painful than we’d expected,” Church said wryly. “We gave her the public tour, answered some questions.”
“Hmm,” Ian hummed.
Whether it was that hum or the pensive expression on his face, it got their attention.
“What are you thinking?” Doc asked.
Jake, clearly on the same page as his brother, answered, “That she flew cross-country for more than a public tour and answers she could have gotten over a call. That seems suspect, doesn’t it?”
“We thought the same thing, but Cage checked her out.”
Cage nodded, pointedly ignoring Heff’s chuckle. “It’s consistent with other assignments she’s done.”
“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating her,” Ian said. “She’s a journalist and a woman, which means she’s doubly curious. Plus, women are at their most dangerous when they’re being agreeable. It usually means they’ve got an ulterior motive.”
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” Church said, grinning.
“Oh, that I am. But seriously, what you’re doing here is great and all, but it just seems like we’re missing something. Like maybe she got wind of something and interviewing you is just a cover story.”
“She doesn’t know about Tori, does she?” Jake asked suddenly.
Tori McCain and her husband, Brian, ran the hippotherapy ranch up the road and had a business partnership with Sanctuary. A few years earlier, Tori had been front-page news as the only surviving victim of the Lonely Hearts serial killer. The Callaghans had used their significant influence to keep her and her adopted son out of the public eye as much as possible, but every now and then, another media buzzard would show up and try to get a scoop.
“Not from us,” Church said, looking to Cage for confirmation.
“I mentioned that hippotherapy was an option for guests, but didn’t provide any names.”
“What did you decide? Are you going to see her again?” Church asked.
“Yes. Tonight, as a matter of fact.”
Clearly, Church didn’t know about the bet. Smoke, Heff, and Mad Dog did though, and they looked neither surprised nor disappointed by Cage’s answer. Knowing them, they’d baited the women into the wager, expecting—possibly hoping—to lose. As Heff had once told him, “losing” to your better half once in a while was a critically important strategy in the long-range plan.
Church nodded. “Keep us posted.”
“Will do.”
Business concluded, Ian and Jake left, and the rest of the guys dispersed.
As he was walking out the door, Heff put a hand on Cage’s shoulder and said quietly, “All kidding aside, it’s probably in everyone’s best interests if you keep the lovely Miss De Rossi occupied for the next couple of days, purely for her safety. If she starts flipping over rocks, she might find a snake or two.”
Chapter Twenty
Bree
It was a universal truth: in small towns, the best places to discover information were bars and salons. Sumneyville had one of each, which made her task easier.
The local bar, O’Malley’s, wasn’t likely to net much. Bree had seen it during her explorations. It was a typical guys-only establishment and not the kind of place where the patrons would openly share anything with outsiders, especially a woman.
The salon, Bella Tu, was far more likely to yield results. Hence her sudden desire for a manicure. Having freshly polished, properly shaped nails and soft hands for her dinner date with Nick was a bonus. If things went well, she might get her toes done, too.
All eyes turned to her when she entered, the looks more curious than hostile. Bree could deal with that.
She paused just inside the door, near the register, taking it all in. The place was roomier on the inside than it had appeared on the outside. A cozy waiting was area off to the left, near the large plate glass window. End tables were strewn with style magazines, some of which looked as if they’d been there since the ’80s. Straight ahead were two styling stations, two sinks, and two overhead dryer seats. Against the right wall, a manicurist station.
Of the half-dozen women in there, several faces were familiar. Bree recognized the hostess from Franco’s sitting in one of the cutting chairs; she thought her name was Carmella. Mona and the spinsterly twins from the Ladies Auxiliary were there, too.
Bree offered them a smile and a wave. “Nice to see you again, ladies.”
“Can I help you?” asked a woman with big hair and big earrings. She reminded Bree a lot of her aunt Lucia.
“I was hoping to get a manicure.” Bree smiled and wiggled her fingers. “Do you do walk-ins?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Marietta!”
The server she’d had the other night at Franco’s looked up from her phone, annoyed. When she saw Bree, some of that annoyance faded.
“Don’t you work at Franco’s?” Bree said as she took a seat at the glass table.
“Yeah, but I help out here, too. My aunt owns the place,” Marietta said, sounding as if she wasn’t thrilled about it.
Bree could see the resemblance. “You look a lot like her.”
“Yeah, everyone says that. Do you want tips or gel?”
Bree spun the acrylic carousel of nail polish, selecting a vibrant purple. “Gel.”
“I love this color,” Marietta said. “We have it in a hair rinse, too. It would look amazing with your dark hair.”
“Me? Purple hair? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. It’s very subtle.”
Mona snorted from the other side of the small space. “Subtle?
