Chapter Three

 

Steve tapped the address Church had given him into his GPS and set off. He had meant to get an earlier start, but the coffee shop had been calling him. He could lie to himself and rationalize that he had just been craving a cup of good, strong coffee. Or he could be honest and admit that that particular craving hadn’t manifested itself until he had caught a glimpse of the logo on his enigmatic new neighbor’s shirt, riding the swell of a generous breast.

If he was being honest, he would also admit he would probably be adding a stop there every morning from now on. Not only was the coffee exceptionally good, but his finely-honed instincts were telling him something was going on with Sam, something that had her spooked.

Steve’s lips curled at recalling how Sam had stood up to that jagoff in the coffee shop. Beneath that skittish rabbit lay a little tigress, he was sure of it. Unfortunately, spirit and courage weren’t always enough. Some problems required physical strength, skill, and a flexible moral compass.

That was where he came in. He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt this sudden, uncharacteristic need to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, but he did.

Chances were, his new neighbor neither wanted nor welcomed his interference, and for that reason alone, he didn’t intend for her to know about it. He would do what he did best—observe from the shadows and, if necessary, quietly resolve any threats that arose. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but his gut told him differently.

One thing he was fairly sure about after that little exchange he had witnessed earlier: Sam wasn’t the type to be afraid without good reason.

Besides, his conscience wouldn’t let him do anything else. Being a SEAL was as much a part of who he was as the genetic code he had been born with. Protecting innocents and eliminating threats was what he had been trained to do, and he was damn good at it. Just because he left active duty didn’t mean he could just turn that shit off. And as long as he was around, why not? It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Sitting around twiddling his thumbs wasn’t his style.

About twenty minutes out of town, the digital voice directed him to take the next right off the two-lane mountain road. Some of the overgrown brush had been cleared away fairly recently; otherwise, he might have missed the turnoff entirely.

The access road wasn’t in great shape. It showed signs of neglect, and years of seasonal freezing and thawing cycles had left cracks and potholes large enough to disable a small car. Steve was glad for his big tires and sturdy undercarriage, but even in his Jeep, he kept the speed down until he learned the road.

Massive trees reached high on either side, their upper branches leaning toward each other to form a natural arch. Bright green buds and blossoms added to the effect, though the view would look just as good in any season. With each passing minute, he felt more and more like he was leaving the outside world behind and entering another time and place.

When the road finally opened, a breathtaking view was revealed. A hidden valley lay before him, complete with a small lake and rolling hills. An imposing manor house—what was left of it—sat on top of one of the higher swells, regally overlooking it all.

When Church told him his plans for turning an old, abandoned resort into a sanctuary for veterans, Steve had pictured an old campground or something. He certainly hadn’t imagined anything like this.

He continued up to the remains of what was once the main building, parking his Jeep next to Mad Dog’s big V8 pickup. The others were already there, milling around.

“Glad you could make it, Smoke.” Doc beckoned him to a large folding table where survey maps, a large pourable carton of coffee, and a couple boxes of donuts from the mini-mart in town sat.

Steve poured himself a cup and almost choked on the bitter sludge. That settled it. He was going to stop by Sam’s coffee house every morning and pick up some real coffee and muffins for these guys. Not only were they far superior, doing so would provide another excuse to see Sam. A legitimate one, at that.

He greeted the guys, most of whom were smiling. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one feeling the sense of peace around this place. It was good to see. They had all seen enough of the darker side of life. Suddenly, Church’s vision seemed a whole lot clearer.

Mad Dog popped an entire donut in his mouth and clapped his hands together. “All right, ladies, now that we’re finally all here, daylight’s burning. Let’s get to work.”

“Who put you in charge?” Heff grumbled, but his eyes were bright.

“I did,” Church said. “He’s the only one of us with a degree in architectural engineering.”

If the other dropped jaws were any indication, Steve wasn’t the only one who hadn’t known that. From what he had been told, Mad Dog was a boss when it came to creating safe holes in practically any environment, but a degree?

“Really?”

Mad Dog nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed as he grabbed another donut and loped up to the main building. There was a story there—Steve was sure of it—but it didn’t look like Mad Dog was keen on sharing. That was all right. He would when, and if, he was ready. Until then, they all had their secrets.

“I’m going to give Smoke the grand tour,” Church called out. “Play nice, kids.”

A few snorted, but they all put down their shitty coffees and followed Mad Dog toward what remained of the manor house.

“This used to be a vacation resort,” Church told him as they walked the perimeter of the property. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at it now, but it used to be a really nice place. People would come from all over to stay here.”

There was something raw in Church’s voice that made Steve shoot him a sideways glance. Church was looking ahead, as if picturing the place in his mind.

“You’ve been here before?”

Church nodded, his face a mask that told Steve nothing … and a lot. “Yeah. It was a family-owned thing; passed down from generation to generation. Swimming and boating in the summer, hiking in the fall, skating in the winter—every season had something to offer.”

“What happened?”

“A fire,” Church said, his voice oddly hollow. “In the middle of the night. There weren’t any guests here at the time. The place closed for a couple of weeks every spring for renovations and such. The family, though, they were here. They didn’t make it.”

They continued to walk in silence, Steve’s instincts telling him to remain silent, that Church wasn’t quite done.

“Except the son,” Church said finally. “He wasn’t here when it happened.”

Despite the sun shining down on them, a chill went up and down the length of Steve’s spine. A light breeze blew through the trees, creating a pleasant background for the music of the multitude of birds and woodland creatures who had made this their home. Steve had a pretty good inkling of who that son was.

“You’re doing a good thing here, Church.”

Church nodded. “We’re doing a good thing here. Couldn’t do it without you guys.”

As they made their way around the perimeter and back up to where they had started, Church told Steve more about his plans. They would concentrate on restoring the main building first, which was where the guests would stay in two- and three-room suites. They would redo the plumbing and electric, as well as rebuild the on-site kitchens and put in some common areas. Once that was done, they would expand outward.

Church said he hoped to have at least some parts operational and ready to accept guests by November since the holidays could be a particularly difficult time. Hopefully, being around others who got it, who had gone through or were going through the same things, would make it a little easier.

The more Church talked about his plans, the more Steve realized the guy’s passion for his vision, and the more he was on board. There was no doubt a place like this was needed. And with a focused leader like Church at the helm, it was going to be a huge success, of that he had no doubt.

It would be a daunting task, though. The place needed a lot of work, and not just the manor house. The grounds had been neglected too long. Outbuildings, those that weren’t piles of rubble, were even worse. Boathouse, dock, stables—they all had to be rebuilt. Add on that Church’s dream included private cabins and a state of the art gym/rehab facility, and it seemed impossible.

Good thing they were all SEALs. Pulling off the impossible was what they did.

By the time they rejoined the others, Steve was feeling pretty stoked about the project. Judging by the way the other guys had rallied, he wasn’t the only one. They believed in it, too.

Beyond sharing a common, worthwhile purpose, he felt like he was part of a team again. It felt comfortable, familiar.

Though Church was the official owner of the place, he insisted those of them willing to sign on be partners. He said, if they were going to put in the work to make his vision a reality, then they deserved to reap the benefits, as well.

* * *

One of the benefits of starting her work day before dawn was being able to leave before the sun set. Even with the twelve-hour days she typically put in, Sam was able to call it quits around five or so.

The day had gone by quickly. After the morning rush, she left Jenna in charge out front and went into the office to handle the business side of things. The current owner, Mr. Santori, didn’t have much of a head for business. He was a nice man and had the kind of friendly personality that people liked, but his financial sense left a lot to be desired. It had been Sam who brought the old place out of financial ruin. If things continued as they were, next quarter might just see them back in the black.

She had called distributors, scheduled deliveries, and generally made sure things ran smoothly. It was a lot of work, but the shop was going to be hers soon, so it was worth it.

The moment she stepped out of the café and back into the real world, the usual uneasiness returned with a vengeance. Inside the shop, her mind and body were constantly busy, and people were always around. But once outside, she was alone again, and the fear began to take hold.

Sam shook it off, chastising herself for being such a paranoid fraidy cat. She was a grown woman, one who had been living on her own and taking care of herself for years. This feeling of vulnerability wasn’t her, and she didn’t like it one bit.

So her previous place had been broken into. Big deal. Lots of people had their homes burglarized. It probably wasn’t personal, just someone out to steal something and turn it into a quick buck.

Then, why didn’t it feel that way? Why was her place the only one targeted? Why hadn’t anything of value been stolen? She wasn’t even sure anything had been taken. A few articles of clothing were missing, but she might have lost those at the laundromat. And why did she still feel the need to look over her shoulder constantly? All questions she had asked herself a hundred times over, and she kept coming back to the same answer: it was personal, and it was about more than a simple snatch and grab. That was the only answer that made sense, despite what the police had said.

Sam pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind as she visited the small, family-owned, organic grocery store around the block. She picked up a few things for dinner, then went to the post office to check the box where she had forwarded all her mail. There was very little there. A fundraising letter from her university alumni association, a local coupon publication, and an offer for a great deal on a home equity loan.

With her cash running low, she had planned on hitting the ATM on the way back, too, but that uncomfortable feeling of being watched continued to grow. Therefore, she bypassed the bank and quickened her steps, intent on making it back to her apartment building before dark.

By the time she arrived, her heart was racing and she was breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking as she tried to jam her key into the outside door.

“Hey, Sam.”

Sam shrieked, swirling around at the same time she took a step back. Keys in one hand, her reusable grocery bag hanging from her arm, her finger poised above the plunger on a can of pepper spray, she looked up into the concerned eyes of her new neighbor.

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyeing her skeptically.

“Yeah. You startled me!” Feeling the heat begin to rise in her cheeks, she averted her eyes, feeling ten kinds of foolish. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was sneaking.”

“Well, you were.”

Aware of his body heat licking along her back and the scent of clean, male sweat, she managed to unlock the door, unable to cross the threshold into the lobby fast enough.

She went over to the elevator and jabbed the button. The doors opened immediately, and she stepped inside the car. Though she preferred to ride alone, she figured it would be terribly rude if she didn’t hold the doors open. It wasn’t as if she could pretend she hadn’t seen him there.

When he didn’t follow in behind her, she peeked her head out to find him still standing by the door, watching.

“Coming?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll take the stairs. I’m not fit for sharing an enclosed space right now.”

Before the doors closed, Sam registered his appearance in the bright lights of the foyer. His hair was mussed, and streaks of dirt and sawdust stuck to his faded jeans and classic men’s cotton tee, clinging tightly to his muscled body. The work boots covering his exceptionally large feet were well-worn and dirty. The man looked and smelled good, even when he was hot, dirty, and sweaty. How was that fair?

The moment the doors opened again on the seventh floor, Sam made a beeline for her apartment.

“Samantha, is everything all right? You look pale, dear.”

Sam closed her eyes briefly and pasted on a smile before turning to the old woman who lived across the hall. Trying to avoid her had become a daily challenge.

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like her elderly neighbor; it was just that Sam wasn’t really into the gossipy type of chit-chat of which Mrs. Himmelwright excelled. She had actually seen the woman open her door and dust the peephole several times when the apartment next to hers was being shown to prospective renters.

Perhaps a subtle hint would work.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Himmelwright. Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Have you met our new neighbor?”

So much for that. She should have known Mrs. Himmelwright would ask about Steve, anxious for information. He was new, good-looking, and presumably single, which officially made him prime fodder for speculative scuttlebutt.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Sam looked toward the stairwell where, at any second, the man himself would be appearing in all his dirty, sweaty, sexy glory. She had been hoping to get inside her place before that happened.

“And …?”

Sam exhaled then pushed her key into the lock. “And nothing.”

“Hmpf,” Mrs. Himmelwright sniffed, clearly unhappy with Sam’s answer. “Well, if he throws any wild parties, I’m calling the building manager.”

“You do that, Mrs. Himmelwright. Have a good night.”

Sam turned the key and opened her door, slipping inside before her elderly neighbor could say any more on the subject. She engaged the locks, then waited by the door. In some ways, she supposed that made her no better than Mrs. Himmelwright.

Within seconds, she heard the stairwell door open and close. She looked through her peephole, seeing Mrs. Himmelwright was still standing in her open doorway, not even trying to hide her interest. Steve nodded to her politely.

While he was at his door, Sam distinctly heard him say quietly, “Have a good night, Sam.”

“You, too, Steve,” she murmured.

She could have sworn she saw his lips quirk into a tired smile.

As had become habit, Sam worked her way around her apartment, turning on the lights and checking to see that everything was exactly the way she had left it. Convinced that all was in order, she turned off all lights but the one in her small kitchenette and opened some windows to let in the fresh, cool air of the evening.

While she prepared a quick dinner, she gave herself another mental pep talk. Rather than getting better with time, her anxiety seemed to be worsening. Other than the creepy sensation of being watched, nothing had happened for a while now. That was something, wasn’t it? Maybe whoever it was had finally moved on.

The police didn’t seem to think the break-in a couple of months ago was related to the other weird things that had been happening, like the flowers that had been anonymously delivered to the coffee shop, or the occasional cards on her windshield. Even if there was a connection, they had told her no laws had been broken and no threats had been made. It wasn’t illegal to send someone flowers or leave a pleasant note.

Even if it was incredibly creepy.

Visions of her new neighbor snuck into her thoughts later that evening as she soaked in her tub then climbed into bed. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Handsome. Gentlemanly. Big and strong, with a simmering undercurrent of danger about him.

She could even see herself being attracted to him. She wasn’t about to start anything, though. She had goals, and once Mr. Santori signed the coffee shop over to her, she would be too busy to have time to invest in a relationship. But, she thought as she turned off the light and snuggled between the sheets, having someone like him next door made her feel a little safer. Perhaps, if and when she saw him again, she would try to be a bit more neighborly.

* * *

Hidden amongst the foliage of the trees, Anthony exhaled slowly as he saw Samantha’s light go out. Then he adjusted his night scope slightly to the left.

G.I. Joe was on his balcony, drinking a beer in the dark. The cocky bastard didn’t realize just how vulnerable he was. Didn’t know how easily Anthony could pick him off. No one would be the wiser. One shot, right between the eyes, that was all it would take.

As satisfying as that thought was, it would raise too many questions. The guy deserved to die, no doubt. What was his plan, anyway? To come off all badass in an attempt to impress her? Did he really believe beautiful, intelligent women like Samantha responded to those kinds of caveman tactics?

Well, even if some did, she didn’t. Anthony had seen her rebuff the advances of the many men who tried to flirt with her. She was too classy to fall for big muscles or expensive suits. She looked deeper than the surface. That made her better than all of them.

That guy, though, he wasn’t going to simply take no for an answer. No, Anthony had seen the blatant interest in his eyes. Sam’s new neighbor looked at her like he was a predator and she was his prey.

Well, who’s the prey now, pretty boy?

As if he had heard his thoughts, the guy on the balcony turned his head and glared right at him.

Anthony froze and held his breath. There was no way the guy could see him. It was dark, and he was too well hidden in the trees. He remained motionless, anyway.

Eventually, the guy went back inside. Anthony wasted no time putting away his scope and sliding off into the darkness with but one thought: G.I. Joe had to go.