Mountains, following the shoreline of Bluebell Lake. Sunlight flashed on the water’s surface, making Wyatt squint behind his sunglasses.
It had only taken twenty-four hours to realize he’d better tackle this problem like a foreign threat to one of his protectees. The Secret Service was all he had, all he wanted, so he’d better get his act together and quick. A few nights’ sleep would be helpful, but the nightmares had been relentless.
Since he wasn’t one to spill his guts to a stranger, he’d packed a bag, hopped in his Audi, and pointed it toward the place where his problems had begun. Probably should’ve booked a hotel, if there was such a thing around here. But it was September, off-season, so he should be all right.
The road curved to the left, and he passed the sign for the state park. Back in the early nineties, his father had set aside this piece of land. Before this place had been spoiled for him, Wyatt had fond memories of hiking and camping in those woods, thick with evergreen trees and night sounds. Bluebell had always felt more like home than Raleigh had.
After a few more curves he emerged from the mountains and into the town proper. Bluebell hadn’t changed much. Someone had turned the fire station into a coffeehouse, and a few stores had sprouted up. He had fond memories of walking these streets, making ice cream runs to the Dairy Bar, fishing off the pier in Pawley Park with his dad. He didn’t remember the colorful canopies or the tidy row of trees lining the streets, but he’d only been twelve his last summer here.
His respiration grew quick and shallow at the thought of that summer, his mouth going dry. He wiped a palm down the leg of his jeans. Out of habit he pushed back the memory. But he would have to stop doing that. It wasn’t working anymore, not since the shooting. It was as if everything he pushed down during the day bubbled to the surface as soon as sleep left him unguarded and vulnerable.
His phone buzzed with a call. Ethan. He took it on his Bluetooth. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
“You left Charlotte? You’re on leave? What happened?”
“Wasn’t my choice, believe me. Burke called me into his office yesterday.”
“And I have to hear about this from Drewsky?”
Ethan had been Wyatt’s best friend since they’d gone through twenty-eight weeks of intense training. You didn’t make it through that hellish experience without forming lifelong bonds.
“Sorry, should’ve called.” Wyatt progressed through town. He almost mentioned the promotion, then held back for some reason. “How’d your last assignment go?” Ethan had a temporary assignment protecting the pope during his stateside visit.
“Uneventful. You doing all right? I hate to tell you, but word around the office is you’re losing it.”
“Just a little trouble sleeping is all. I think I need to take a break from my routines. Chill out. I’ll get it settled and be back before you know it.”
Ethan knew better than to suggest sleep aids. Men who were trained to be on constant alert weren’t about to render themselves helpless. At least Wyatt wasn’t.
“Where’d you go?”
“Not far. A little lake town called Bluebell, tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
“Sounds quaint.”
“Used to spend summers here with the folks when I was a kid.”
“Ah. Does the Gov still summer there?”
“Not anymore. He stays in Raleigh year-round.” The trauma of that last summer had spoiled the place for both of them.
“Maybe this is just what you need. A little R & R. Come back refreshed. You’ve been hitting it pretty hard for a long time. And that shooting . . .”
“It’s what we’re trained for.”
“Sure, but not many agents actually find themselves taking a bullet. You did good, Jennings.”
“Thanks, man.” He rolled his left shoulder, the pain more a nuisance than a worry.
He was almost to the end of town when his family’s old summer home came into view. It was as big and white as he remembered with a wide, welcoming front porch and neat lawn.
Only one thing was different: a sign reading Bluebell Inn. His eyes lingered on the words for several seconds before he pulled into one of the diagonal slots in front of the building.
“Listen, Ethan, I gotta run. I’ll call you in a few days.”
He ended the call, unable to take his eyes off the familiar sight. It appeared he’d get to see the inside of his old summer home. But did he really want to face the memories