BOBBY Kent opened his eyes in an unfamiliar place and found a tall, lean man about his age and about his height standing at the foot of his bed. The man had a broad chest and shoulders and lean arms with lean muscles. He had faint scars on his chin and at his hairline. They were only visible because of his dark tan and close-cropped hair. The man stood there holding a cup of tea watching him, just watching him, with a perfectly blank expression.
The man spoke and said, “You’re in a guest room at Carol Mabry’s house.”
“What?” Bobby asked, only because the statement was not the answer to the first question he would have asked and it jarred him.
He sat straight up and looked around, getting his bearings. The bright Virginia morning sunlight shone through the window. There was a humid smell
