27 The upper half of a face emerged, like a shark breaking the surface of the water. His forehead, eyes, a cheek, the ridge of his jaw.
The stranger wore the uniform of the Coast-Guard and stood huddled in the doorway with a big, warm grin on his face, bracing himself against the wind and the rain.
The weather was worse than ever. Rain fell like lead shot, dripping from the hood of the coast guard's coat in shining strands. "Adrian Goodchild," he said, offering his right hand for me to shake. "But my friends call me Ace." I stood to one side and let him in. I shut the door behind him, and I bolted it once more.
He pulled back his hood and wiped the rain from his face. Even covered with his coast-guard uniform and waterproofs, there was no mistaking his sheer, hulking
