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Another discordant series of notes from the guitar player and he shoved upright and stormed back over to the window.
The one thing Mileshadn’tmentioned when his handler and friend updated him about this place was the wannabe rockstar. Slamming the window shut, he sighed with relief as the guitar riffs immediately dulled to a bare whisper. He couldn’t hear much from the ocean, either, but he could always pick a different room for sleeping.
There was also the option of leaving, going somewhere else entirely.
But Miles had already vetted this place, knew it was secure and the few neighbors were all above board. His boss had sweetened the deal by adding that the local grocer would deliver if Travis paid an extra fifty—expensive, sure, but if Travis preferred not to go into town while he was resting up, it was worth it.
Small towns made it harder for people who didn’t belong to blend in. Travis was actually pretty good at blending in when he wanted. He’d become a veritable chameleon over the past decade-plus—he could look like the pretty-boy rich kid plenty of people might expect, or he could look so nondescript, folks forgot him the second they saw him.
But he was fucking tired and didn’t want to put effort into anything these days.
And he liked it here.
It was beautiful.
It might look desolate to some, but not to him.
This particular strip of land bordered on three sides by the Atlantic, and all of four houses dotted the rock-laden sandy terrain. The house where Travis was staying was the farthest out, perched precariously on the very tip, with water all on three sides ... for the most part. The road stopped at the driveway and the house, which had clearly been expanded over the years, took up what safe, available land there was available.
The next building, home of the mini musician, was probably twenty yards away.
Plentyfar enough, Travis would have thought.
Out of habit, he searched the road and mentally went through the available escape routes now that his brain was awake and music no longer assaulted his eardrums.
He had several different options—one via land, and two more via the waterways.
His first option lay with the specially outfitted truck in the garage. With that, he could take down anything short of a tank.
There were also the two boats, a newer speedboat, and then a ramshackle thing nobody would take seriously, both which were excellent options. The ramshackle-looking boat pretending to be a piece of shit was actually the fastest and the one he’d go for if he had to bail and couldn’t get to the truck.
Right now, that ramshackle boat looked damned appealing.
Granted, he hadn’t thought he’d need any of the escape routes, and definitely not because some teenaged, possibly tone-deaf kid was out in his garage tearing up a guitar while Travis tried to sleep.
He’d had four days of blissful peace and quiet in this house, perched on the edge of a small peninsula in Maine. The air tasted of salt water. The soothing rush of the waves had lulled him to sleep each night.
Then the evening before last, just before sunset, a battered van pulled onto the street. He’d eyed it from the porch swing until the side doors opened and disgorged three kids of varying ages, heights and builds. Then he’d heard a baby’s strident cry split the night air. Four damn kids, and one was a baby with a wail to rival a banshee’s.
He’d only caught a glimpse of the woman’s averted head before he’d gone inside, chased away by the bright curiosity of the second smallest kid who’d seen him and shouted, “Who is that?”
Since then, he’d spent most of his time outdoors on the sprawling deck built onto the eastern side of the house. It butted right up the water’s edge, secured to the rocky beach by thick supports under the deck and foundation but the most appealing part was that the house’s design kept the deck hidden from view unless somebody was actually out on the water.
Thanks to the security system Miles had installed—one that would do any paranoid federal agent proud—Travis didn’t have to worry about unexpected visitors, either. Motions sensors in the yard, along the decorative-looking fence that ran parallel to the road starting at the property line, as well as along the driveway and near the accessible points of entry sent alerts to his phone whenever anybody came within spitting distance of the house.
So far, other than the neighbors farther up the street and last night’s late glimpse of his closest neighbors, the only time he’d seen anybody was when he’d had groceries delivered.
He would have appreciated a warning about the music.
While Travis had prowled around the house the night he’d arrived, Miles had mentioned that the neighbor nearest to him sometimes traveled to visit family, especially this time of year.
“They should have stayed another week or two,” Travis muttered now, his head pounding in time to the barely discernible drumbeat that had started accompanying the guitar. If they had, he’d be healed up well enough to travel without much issue and he could head to pretty much anywhere—hell, maybe he’d be in decent enough shape to face his twin. Nowaycould he risk seeing Trey before he healed more, though. Not after the last time.
A dull headache, the product of too much whiskey the night before, pounded at the base of his head as he left the room. Loose, heather-gray joggers clung to his hips, riding lower than they had a few months earlier. He’d lost weight in the hospital and in the week since being discharged. But who the hell evergainedweight eating in hospital food?
Since he was still healing and his body needed the nutrients, he made himself a shake, grimacing through the noise caused by the blender. The protein mix, combined with bananas and peanut butter, settled easily enough on his gut as he stood looking out the large picture window in front of the house.
Movement in the water caught his eyes and he squinted against the rays of the sun, a smile slowly appearing. Harbor seals. Distant memories of trips to Cape Cod, trips out on the water with his parents, swam up from the back of his mind. He’d made a pointed effort to block out much of the time he’d spent on the East Coast when he’d been younger.
