So, Lenny hadn’t lied, but he’d been very selective in what he shared, leaving out the breaking and entering and attempted murder and the fact that Freed’s injuries had been the result of a woman acting in self-defense.
Bree wondered what else Lenny had lied about. As if on cue, her phone rang. She looked at the display, recognizing the arson investigator’s number.
“That was fast,” she said in greeting.
“What did you stumble into, Miss De Rossi?” the investigator asked.
That didn’t sound good. “Why? What did you find?”
“Nothing definite—yet. But my gut’s telling me those fires were all set by the same person, and it wasn’t Samantha Applehoff. Another thing: whoever conducted the investigations is either a fucking idiot or has a hidden agenda. I strongly suggest you watch your back on this one.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Bree disconnected, even more convinced that Lenny had been the one attempting to manipulate her, not Nick. The fact that the Sumneyville Fire Chief was Lenny’s dad hammered another nail into Lenny’s credibility coffin. That more than justified her decision to stick around and sort things out in her mind.
Bree called Toni next.
“Did you get in early?”
“No, I’m still in Pennsylvania. I’ve decided to stay a couple extra days. Is Hunter around?”
“No, he went back to his place. Why are you still in Pennsylvania?”
“Because there’s something here, Toni; I can feel it. Look up some names for me, will you? See what you can find out about Lenny Petraski and Dwayne Freed. One’s a cop, and one’s a criminal.”
“Holy hell, Bree. This was supposed to be a cream-puff assignment! Instead, you’ve slept with a mobster, called in an arson investigator, and have me stalk a policeman.”
“I know; I know,” Bree said, rubbing at the spot between her eyes. It wasn’t as if she went looking for trouble. It just kind of found her. “What can I say? I really want Hunter to pay for takeout.”
“You’re insane.”
Bree could picture Toni shaking her head. It made her smile. They were going to have a lot to talk about when she got back to California. “I know that, too. Call me when you’ve got something, okay?”
“Okay. And, Bree? Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cage
He was such an idiot.
Sometimes, he forgot that Bree was a journalist. That she’d come to Sanctuary for a story, not for him. With his personal backstory and Petraski flinging shit like the primate he was, how could Bree not have doubts?
Sandy came over to join him at the table with her laptop in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She took one look at his untouched plate of reheated breakfast leftovers and asked, “Uh-oh. Problems?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Cage answered. “What are you up to?”
“I had some new concept ideas for websites and wanted to get them down while they’re fresh in my mind. I tend to get more done when snacks are involved. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” Sandy turned to go to another table.
“It’s just ... I think Bree’s been asking questions in town and hearing some negative things about us.” About me.
Sandy returned and slid into a seat across from him. “We expected that. I thought that was one of the reasons we brought her up here. So she could see for herself and form her own opinions.”
“It was,” he agreed.
And he was the one who was supposed to keep her occupied and distracted and happy. Until that morning, he’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of it, too. Unfortunately for him, it had become so much more than a task. He liked her. A lot.
“Judging by the tortured look on your face, it didn’t quite work out that way.”
“I don’t know what to think,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “I thought she got it, but she just asked me if I’d missed our breakfast this morning because I put another trespasser in the hospital last night. And that was after she asked if I’d taken another woman on a personalized tour.”
Sandy frowned. “Sounds like she’s been talking to Lenny. What did you say?”
“I told her not to believe everything she hears, and if she wanted the full story, she should read the arrest records.”
Sandy’s frown deepened. “Ouch.”
“I know.” Cage sighed heavily. “Fuck. I’m just not good at this.”
“You really like her, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m an idiot. It’s just ... I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel like she does. Someone who actually understands what it was like to grow up in the same kind of environment as I did. Or at least, I thought she did.”
“Hugh filled me in last night. She knows about your family then?”
Cage nodded. “Yeah. It came up on a background check, apparently.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She asked me some questions, and I told her the truth. I thought it would be a game changer, but surprisingly, she seemed okay with it. Probably because she could relate. It was like another invisible string between us, you know?”
“It sucks to be judged by your family’s deeds instead of your own,” Sandy replied, speaking from personal experience. Her father hadn’t exactly been a paragon in the local community, and Sandy’s family had suffered the effects for years.
They sat there for a few minutes in contemplative silence.
Then, Sandy asked, “Would you like to know what I think?”
“I’ll take all the insight I can get.”
“I think she’s scared.”
“Scared? Of what?”
“Of you. Or more specifically, what she feels for you.”
When Cage began to shake his head, Sandy continued, “Hear me out. I know what it feels like to feel conflicted, torn between wanting a career and a personal life. As a journalist, it’s her job to be objective and seek out the truth. But as a woman, she wants to believe you’re as wonderful as she thinks you are.”
He snorted.
“I’m serious. That question about providing a personalized tour? That’s her asking for confirmation that she wasn’t just a job
