Chapter One
Mad Dog
“Merry Christmas,” Hugh “Heff” Bradley greeted when he joined the rest of the team in the war room around noon.
Once a large ballroom when the place had been an upscale resort, it was now where they did the majority of their information-sharing and strategizing.
Brian “Mad Dog” Sheppard looked up from the blueprints he’d spread out and dutifully offered, a “Merry Christmas” in return.
The others—Matt “Church” Winston, Nick “Cage” Fumanti, Cole “Doc” Watson, and Steve “Smoke” Tannen—did the same. If it wasn’t for the decorations Smoke’s woman, Sam, had put up around the place, they probably wouldn’t have even known it was a holiday. For most of them, it was just another day.
“How’s Sandy?” Church asked Heff.
“Good. She’s sleeping in.”
“I’d say she’s earned it.”
That was an understatement. The day before, a disgruntled yokel had broken into Heff’s cabin on the property and started shooting up the place. Heff wasn’t there at the time, but his woman, Sandy, was. Thankfully, Sandy hadn’t been hurt, but she was pretty shaken up.
The rest of them were pissed that a no-good POS like Dwayne Freed had come on to their land with the intent of hurting one of their own. Sure, they were technically civilians now, but once a SEAL, always a SEAL.
Heff grimaced at the reminder and poured himself a mug of coffee from the carafe Sam kept refilling. “Speaking of, where is the fucker?”
“In the hospital,” Church replied with grim satisfaction. “He won’t be going anywhere for a while. Sandy put quite a dent in his face.”
“She swung that lid like a major leaguer,” Smoke said with approval, having witnessed the smackdown through the bathroom window while attempting an extraction. “Freed didn’t stand a chance.”
They all chuckled with the exception of Heff, who looked murderous and ready to do some damage. They weren’t making light of what had gone down, but it was quite a visual. According to Smoke, Sandy had taken the attacker out with the lid of the toilet tank. Heff’s woman was fierce.
“She shouldn’t have had to do that,” Heff growled.
“No,” Church agreed, looking somber. “But I don’t think we have to worry about a repeat. We scouted the entire southern perimeter, and it looks like Freed acted alone. No tracks besides his, though it’s still not clear how he managed to get so close without us knowing.” He scowled. “I had a come-to-Jesus talk with his daddy this morning.”
Dwayne Freed was not only the village idiot; he was also the ne’er-do-well son of the local chief of police, Daryl Freed. For some reason, the Freeds had a grudge against Church, some personal shit that had started way back when, well before Sanctuary was a thing, and it was still going strong. Church hadn’t shared the details behind it. They didn’t care. They supported Church one hundred and ten percent and believed that if they needed to know, Church would tell them.
Heff leaned back against a table and sipped his coffee. “I bet Daryl’s not too happy.”
“He’s not,” Church confirmed.
“I wouldn’t be either,” Mad Dog chimed in. “Kind of embarrassing when the police chief’s son goes off the rails and gets beaten down by a half-naked woman wielding porcelain.”
Heff’s lips quirked. As worried as he was for Sandy, he was pretty damn proud of her, too. They all were.
“Freed’s pride took another major blow.” That was from their intel man, Cage.
Yesterday’s incident wasn’t the first time the police chief had come out of a situation looking less than stellar. Those previous times had involved them in one form or another as well, which didn’t do much to improve relations with some of the Sumneyville town locals. They didn’t like being shown up by “outsiders.” It didn’t matter that Church had been born and raised there or that his family had been a staple of the community for centuries. The rest of them hadn’t.
Mad Dog grunted. “He’s damn lucky Sandy got to him before Heff.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. They were trained SEALs, fully capable of capturing, subduing, and disarming a threat without loss of life, but Heff would have carried out the task with extreme prejudice. Daryl wouldn’t have been visiting his son in the hospital this morning; he would have been making arrangements at the local funeral home—if Dwayne’s body had ever been found, that was.
“This isn’t going to help relations with the locals any,” Cage commented.
“No,” Church agreed on an exhale.
Mad Dog felt for the guy. He’d lost his entire family in a tragic fire while he was serving his country, and now, he—they were trying to turn the charred remains of his legacy into a place where returning vets could adjust and acclimate back into civilian life. It was a good thing that they were doing, but there were some in the nearby town of Sumneyville who would prefer they did it somewhere else.
From what Mad Dog knew of Chief Freed, he’d twist the facts surrounding yesterday’s “incident” and use them as proof that they were a dangerous lot. They were but only to those who posed a threat to them or to those they cared about.
“Not everyone is against you, you know,” Sam said, entering the room. Like Church, she’d grown up in the area. “There’s plenty of local support, too. They’re just quieter about it. Daryl Freed and his brother-in-law are bullies. Even worse, they’re bullies in positions of power. People know if they speak up, the police and fire departments might not be as quick to respond if and when needed.”
Doc shook his head. “That’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed, “but it is the way small-town politics work. Now, enough about them. It’s Christmas, and a special holiday feast awaits in the dining room.”
She didn’t have to tell them twice. Delicious aromas had been drifting out of the kitchen all morning, making their mouths water and their stomachs grumble.
Church nodded. “You heard the woman. Let’s eat.”
~ * ~
Two weeks later, Sam’s words about local support were still going through Mad Dog’s head as he drove down into Sumneyville. He wanted to believe she was right. That there were those in town who supported what they were doing. Sandy had backed her up on that, citing the staff at Franco’s—the restaurant they’d frequented often—as an example.
That might have been true initially, but he wasn’t sure that was still the case. Sam and Sandy were locals, but they were now out of the townie loop. Sam had been staying at Sanctuary for months, and with the kitchen and dining room now open, the guys weren’t heading to Franco’s much anymore.
Now that Sandy was staying with them, too, they no longer had an inside source at the township office. They didn’t know what kind of bullshit Daryl Freed was spreading around. Even before Dwayne’s ill-fated plan, Daryl and his posse had been putting an entirely different—and entirely false—spin on things.
Personally, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if Freed liked them or not. However, if there was one thing he’d learned in his time on the teams, it was that local support—or lack of it—could have a huge impact on the success of any mission.