Trey stood on the deck of the cabin, gazing down to the shoreline and across the water where the surface riffled in the light breeze. Naked except for the heavy quilt wrapped around him, he drew in a deep breath. Although the air still held the freshness of spring, the touch of summer floated around the edges. Max had flown them here to the rocky coast of Maine three weeks ago, dead of night, in a helicopter as black as the one he'd arrived in at Joe's.
"I hope it won't be for long," he told them, handing them the keys to an SUV parked in the driveway. "Meanwhile, the cabin's fully stocked. There's even firewood, if it gets cold at night. Don't go anywhere except into the little village and don't contact anyone who isn't on the list."
He'd repeated the litany over and over. They'd had on
