Organically Yours: Sanctuary, Book Five by Abbie Zanders (love letters to the dead txt) 📕

When she directed the beam downward, she spotted several small tire tracks, like those from a hand truck, in the dirt floor and frowned. They looked fresh, too clearly defined to have been there for long. She followed them into one of the interior chambers, where several crates had been shoved against the wall.

Those definitely hadn’t been there before.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Tina pried off one of the lids and peered inside, gasping when she saw the contents. Guns. Lots and lots of guns. And not the kind they sold at Jenkins’s Sporting Goods.

She lifted one out carefully to take a closer look. It reminded her of those she’d seen armed guards carrying during one of her trips to South America.

“Bert!”

Tina swung around at the sound of her brother’s voice, finding him in a shadowy recess at the far end of the chamber. “Rick! What the actual hell?”

He quickly closed the space between them, removed the automatic weapon from her hands, and returned it to the crate. “You shouldn’t be here. You have to leave.”

“These shouldn’t be here,” she said, waving her hand toward the crates. “Why are they?”

His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The less you know, the better. And you need to leave. Right now.”

“Oh no. You don’t get to pull that crap. You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“Tina”—Rick’s large hands closed around her shoulders in a strong grip and shook lightly—“you can’t be here.”

The sound of footsteps came from deeper within. Rick’s eyes were as desperate as she’d ever seen them, and in that moment, she felt his fear.

“Please.”

“You’re going to explain this.”

He hesitated. The footsteps were getting closer. His head dipped in a jerky nod.

“I mean it, Rick.”

He spun her around. “Go!” he hissed with a shove.

She did. She was nearly to the door when she heard the murmur of male voices. As much as she wanted to know who was in there and what they were doing, Rick’s desperate plea and the genuine fear she’d seen in his eyes kept her moving.

* * *

It was after midnight when Rick finally showed up at her cottage. She opened the door and waved him in. Without a word, he stepped over the threshold and sank down into one of the two chairs at her small table.

She sat down, too, holding the questions burning on her tongue. She knew from experience that if she laid into him too quickly, he’d get his back up, and things would devolve into a battle.

He sat there in silence for so long that she began to think he wouldn’t say anything at all. He continued to stare at the table, looking tired. Tired and despondent.

It unnerved her. The last time she’d seen him look that way, he’d had to explain to their father how he’d lost a full-paid football scholarship and been expelled from the university.

“What’s going on, Rick?” she coaxed softly.

“Do you still keep a bottle of bourbon around here?”

Bourbon suddenly sounded like a good idea. Tina got up, got the bottle and two glasses, and then poured them each a few fingers. Rick tossed his back and poured another right away.

“I made some bad investments,” he said finally.

“You made some bad investments?” she asked skeptically. “Or Gunther did?”

Rick’s mouth twisted. “We all did, I guess. It was supposed to be a sure thing. Gunther said Luther had inside info.”

Luther. Tina should have known he was involved somehow. The guy was bad news wrapped in a shiny, smooth-talking package.

“But ...” she prompted.

“But something went wrong. And before you ask, I don’t know what exactly. All I know is, we’re fucked.”

“How fucked?”

Rick looked miserable. “We leveraged everything. Bet the whole farm.”

The true horror of the situation began to dawn on her. “You did what?”

“He was so sure,” Rick murmured.

“There must be something—”

“There’s not,” he said abruptly, cutting her off. “We’re going to have to sell. Gunther’s been talking with some developers. He thinks he can get us a decent deal.”

Tina shook her head. “No. No! It’s not possible. It can’t be that bad.”

Rick lifted his eyes and met hers. His gaze said more than words ever could. He believed it was. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try to find a way out. There had to be some recourse. A four-hundred-year-old legacy farm didn’t just go belly up overnight.

“What about those guns? What do they have to do with anything?”

Rick exhaled. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I don’t want you involved.”

“But I did, and apparently, I am involved.”

“Luther said he could fix things. He just needed some cash to work with.”

“And you thought dealing in illegal arms was the way to do that?” she asked in disbelief.

“It’s not like that,” he said irritably.

“Oh? You’re telling me the weapons in that crate are legal? Should I call Chief Freed to come check them out?”

“Where do you think they came from?” he said with a humorless laugh.

Sadly, Tina should have been more shocked than she was. “Friedrich Elias Obermacher, what the hell is going on? Straight up. No bullshit.”

The fact that Rick didn’t argue, just exhaled and nodded, told her more than anything that he’d lost all hope.

“Dwayne met a guy when he did time downstate.”

Dwayne was the police chief’s son and at one time, Rick’s best friend. He’d gotten into some trouble outside his daddy’s jurisdiction. Unlike every other time, Daryl hadn’t been able to get him out of it, and Dwayne had been sentenced to a prison down around Philly somewhere.

“They got to talking about hunting and shit, and this guy told Dwayne he could get his hands on some quality firearms for cheap. When Dwayne got out, the guy hooked him up, and Dwayne brought a few pieces with him to the compound.”

“The hunting camp?” Tina asked.

Everyone knew about the private encampment on the Freed family’s mountain parcel. Many of the guys in town were members and used the club as an excuse to drink beer, shoot guns, and get away from their wives and