* * *
Even sleeping for a solid ten hours wasn’t enough to get rid of the sluggish feeling plaguing her. Bree had to drag herself out of bed and force herself to take a shower before making it into the office. Along the way, she picked up an expensive and highly caffeinated coffee, but it couldn’t compare to Sam’s special brew.
She hadn’t been at her desk for more than a few minutes before Hunter came by, helping himself to her newly refreshed cache of Squirrel Nut Zippers.
“Toni tells me I might be buying takeout.”
“I guess that depends. How was Vegas?”
“Didn’t pan out,” Hunter said, popping an unwrapped candy into his mouth. “Couldn’t get into the inner circle.”
Bree didn’t believe that for a moment. Not only had he scored an invitation into the private club, but the man could also charm the habit off a nun when he turned up the wattage. No, if Hunter didn’t get the story, it was because there was something else he wanted more. Namely, Toni. The fact that he didn’t seem particularly upset about not getting the story only corroborated her theory.
“You’re a big softy, you know that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not. And she’s totally worth it.”
“De Rossi!” Charlie barked across the team room. “In my office.”
Bree pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ve been summoned.”
“So, am I getting pad thai or Indian?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Bree grabbed a pen and pad and started walking toward Charlie’s office, calling over her shoulder, “And stop eating all my candy.”
“Close the door,” Charlie commanded when she entered.
She took in his red face, thinned lips, and the pulsing vein at his temple and figured he wasn’t happy about Hunter’s failure to get into the sex club. No big surprise there since that was supposed to be the feature piece in next month’s edition.
“Talk to me. What do you have? Please tell me you’ve got something.”
Bree took a seat in front of his desk, watching as he paced back and forth behind it. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.
“I do,” she said carefully. “I was able to tour the facility and got to know some of the owners as well as some of the locals.”
“And?”
“And?”
He stopped pacing and put both hands on his desk, piercing her with his laser-like gaze. “And do you want to tell me why you felt the need to extend your stay in Nowheresville or why you got our research department looking into Mafia dons or why you contacted a private arson investigator?”
“Just following up on some things. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. If he hoped to intimidate her, he’d have to try harder than that. “You’re not the only one who can read people, De Rossi, and right now, you look like a journalist who’s sitting on one hell of a story.”
Bree kept her expression impassive. Charlie was guessing, nothing more. “Do I?”
“I want your article on my desk on Friday, got it?”
“Yes, sir. Friday.”
* * *
Bree stayed late to catch up on the nonessential emails she’d ignored while she was away. She picked up some takeout on the way home and then unpacked the rest of her things with the intention of doing laundry.
When she unzipped the suitcase with the soap from Zeigler’s, she lifted the bag to her nose and inhaled deeply. The scents of sandalwood and evergreen hit her first, bringing images of Nick to mind and a pang to her chest. How was it possible to feel such a sense of loss toward someone she’d only known a few days?
She set those soaps off to the side and then pulled out the others she’d picked up for herself and Toni.
With clothes in the washer and a glass of wine on the table, Bree opened her laptop and stared at the screen. She still didn’t know what she was going to do. She could write the piece as originally intended with interviews and pictures and topical backstory. Or she could write something that would get her noticed.
Unable to make a decision, she decided to create drafts of both.
The original story was good. It told of the men who had started Sanctuary with the idea of helping others and the wonderful things they were doing there. It was inspiring and hopeful, the feel-good article it was meant to be.
The unexpected story was better. Way better. Bree employed her love of creative writing to craft a tale of intrigue and collusion with elements of a generations-old feud, small-town corruption, hidden agendas, cults, firebugs, and scandal.
She was putting equal time into both, adding layers, pulling bits and pieces from her notes, photos, and personal observations. Two completely different stories yet two sides of the same coin.
Midway through the week, a package came for Bree. She got excited when she saw the Pennsylvania postmark, knowing instinctively that it was from Nick. She opened it, finding a small, high-tech gadget in the shape of a half-sphere along with a card that read: I’ve programmed it with the date and the geographical coordinates of Sanctuary, so no matter where you are, we can see the same sky. —Nick
A rush of emotion washed over her as she plugged it in and turned off the lights. Sure enough, the holographic image of the night sky appeared on her ceiling. Added bonus: the device had audio as well, playing a quiet symphony of the crickets, frogs, and owls she’d heard that night in the hammock.
It was quite possibly the nicest, sweetest, most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her. With her star map, the night sounds, and the scents of the sandalwood and evergreen soaps on her nightstand, she could close her eyes and almost imagine she was back on that mountain.
The next day, she heard back from the arson investigator as well.
