7
Spring Clean
Remote Swedish village. Check.
Bumpy, winding dirt track. Check.
Spooky, scream-swallowing woods. Check.
Yep, this seemed like the perfect place to get clobbered and buried alive. The thought hit me like a rock to the skull. Had Philippe saved me so he could r**e and murder me in his own sick way? Maybe JPAC executions didn’t do it for him anymore.
The Volvo struggled for grip and power as the track rose at a steep angle. We climbed above the dense, evergreen tree line onto a small dirt hill overlooking a house facing a small lake. A short wooden jetty poked out into the lake to the front of the property, a small outboard-engined boat tied to one of the end posts.
Philippe stopped the car and killed the engine. There was nothing else around except for birds, swooping
