The boat rocked violently in the rough water.

Suddenly, a bright light flared from the woods behind me.

It was not a flashlight.

It was the headlights of an SUV.

The engine roared as it tore down the narrow walking path, snapping branches.

The vehicle skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, its high beams blinding me.

The door flew open.

A figure stepped out into the rain, holding a phone that was glowing bright blue in the darkness.

“Adrian,” a voice called out over the storm.

It was a voice I had not heard in four years.

A voice I thought was buried in the cemetery behind the church.

My mother’s voice.

“Adrian,” she called again.

Her face was lined with the years she had spent in hiding.

Before I could speak, Marcus moved from the shadow of the boathouse.

He did not hesitate.

He lunged forward, his boots slipping on the wet timber of the dock.

The mercenary on the boat turned toward him, raising his weapon.

Marcus tackled the man, his shoulder hitting the man’s chest with a dull thud.