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he couldn’t, they would talk later.
    And wherever he was—whatever he was up to—he would come back to her.

3
     
    The Bold Coast,
Maine
Wednesday, 7:00 p.m., EST
     
    It took Mike Donovan a full three seconds before he realized the buzzing he heard was his cell phone. He wasn’t used to having a phone. He picked it up from the counter where he’d left it while he chopped garlic. He’d been up since five, when he had pulled on jeans, a heavy flannel shirt, a vest, wool socks and L.L.Bean boots and headed outside. The temperature was in the double digits. He could get work done.
    He answered his phone without checking the screen to see who was calling. Before he could get in a word, his mother spoke. “No one’s hurt or been arrested,” she said.
    “That’s good. What’s up?”
    She launched into something about a visitor. Some guy. Mike couldn’t make it all out. The connection was weak. It was dark at his cabin on a remote stretch of the Maine coast down east of Acadia National Park. The Bold Coast, it was called, named for its dramatic cliffs and tides. His mother was in Rock Point, his hometown in southern Maine.
    “You run an inn,” he said. “What’s wrong with visitors?”
    “This wasn’t a
guest
. It was one of your army buddies.”
    He heard the urgency in her voice. Married to a police officer, now retired, and the mother of four adult sons, Rosemary Donovan wasn’t prone to overstating her case.
    Mike stood at his front window. The evening air was still and dark, stars glittering on waves of undisturbed snow and the ocean, quiet and starlit past the marsh across from his cabin. He’d worked outside most of the day and had planned to spend the evening alone by the fire, reading a book. He owned a television but didn’t watch it much. He liked his life but it was new to him compared to the army. Three years into it instead of ten.
    “What army buddy?” he asked finally.
    “Jamie Mason. Do you know him?”
    Retired army, none better at logistics support. “I know him. When did he stop by?”
    “Just now. I offered him coffee, but he said no, he had things to do.”
    “Pop’s there?”
    “No. I’m here alone. Your father’s at Hurley’s having a drink with your brothers.”
    Andy and Kevin, Mike thought. Not Colin. Colin had told them he was in Washington, but he could be anywhere. Their folks would like all four sons in town having a drink at Hurley’s.
    Mike turned from the window back to his kitchen area. “You let this guy in?”
    “Of course. It’s cold outside.”
    It wasn’t that cold for Maine in February. “Just because he said he’s a friend doesn’t mean he is one.”
    “Oh, stop, Mike. I didn’t call you for a lecture. He left a message for you. I wrote it down. I have it right here. Hang on a sec.” She paused, and Mike could hear her shuffling through papers. He pictured her in the old sea captain’s house that she and his father had converted into an inn in Rock Point, four hours by car down the coast. “Got it. He said to tell you that Reed Cooper is on his way to Maine from London. He’s meeting with a small group at the Plum Tree Inn. He wants you to join them. You know the Plum Tree, don’t you, Mike? It’s just up the road from here. I thought it was closed for the season.”
    “I know it.”
    “What do these men want with you, Mike?” his mother asked, as if suddenly realizing she had reason to be suspicious.
    “Reed has started his own private contract security firm. Cooper Global Security.”
    “Oh.”
    Mike heard the apprehension in her voice. He scooped up chopped garlic and tossed it into his frying pan. Jamie Mason wouldn’t be one of Reed’s operators. More likely Mason would be running the office, probably with his wife, Serena, also retired army.
    “Did Mason say anything else?” Mike asked.
    “He gave me a few more names. I wrote them down, too. My mind’s a sieve these days. Let me see. One’s a woman’s name, I remember