Chapter 1

Ace stood at the helm of the cabin cruiser and turned away from the cluster of water traffic near the harbor. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe he was here.

His last trip to Maine had come only weeks before his death. It had been fall then too. One unexpected incident, one pivotal decision, had changed his life. Or, rather, had ended it. He had been only twenty years old.

As a guardian, he and the others like him had all made the same decision: in order to live, they had chosen to die.

The wind on his face today assured him his death had been a facade, a ruse to make sure the men who wanted him dead didn’t have cause to succeed. Now, only weeks after his fortieth birthday, he found himself looking back and wondering what life would have been like had he been given the opportunity to live a normal life.

Turning inland, he navigated between a series of private islands before making his way toward shore. He saw a small harbor in the distance and checked his coordinates to confirm he was in the right place.

The small village of Eastcrest stretched a couple blocks inland and centered around the main street that led straight to the water. A scattering of clapboard houses dotted the surrounding countryside. Ace doubted the town’s population exceeded a thousand.

At the dock, a handful of sailboats bobbed in the water, along with recreational speedboats. More than half the slips were empty, and Ace suspected those belonged to the fishing vessels that were still out on the water this time of day. Either that or tourists who had already gone south for the winter.

He glanced skyward and judged the time to be only ten in the morning. He supposed he needed to invest in another watch, but his cell phone kept the time well enough that he hadn’t bothered to replace the watch that had broken a few weeks earlier.

He turned toward the far side of the harbor, where a fuel station was situated on a long dock. As he motored forward, he adjusted his sunglasses and tugged his cap a little lower. No need to give anyone the ability to recognize him.

A man in his sixties approached when he pulled up to the dock.

Ace nodded a greeting before he tossed him a line, and the two men secured the boat.

“I need to top off, and I hoped you could direct me to the harbor master. I need a place to dock for a couple days.”

“You’re looking at him.” Methodically, the older man went about refueling the boat. “You can take slip twenty-two. It’s been open since old man Watkins passed away last summer.”

“Thanks.” Ace looked over the small harbor again, taking note of the way the man had referred to the previous owner of his temporary docking space. He was tempted to ask if he knew the location of the woman Ace had been sent here to find, but that sort of question would bring far too much unwanted attention. His presence alone was likely to circle through town by noon.

A few minutes later, he secured his boat once more and took a look at the village of Eastcrest. The size gave him hope that his search would be short-lived, but just the thought of succeeding sent a wave of apprehension through him.

Kristi Hartinger. Her name had been one of more than a hundred the guardians had considered for this job, but no matter how many other possibilities he’d offered, she remained firmly at the top of everyone’s list.

The real question wasn’t if she would accept the position he was here to offer her but, rather, if she would forgive him for letting her think he’d been dead for the past twenty years.

* * *

Kristi leaned on the railing of the wide deck, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands. She took a sip, enjoying the warmth that seeped through her in contrast to the cold snap in the air. On the cliffs below, water crashed against rock and sent a spray into the air that smelled of the sea.

Across the span of water between her home and the mainland, the early-morning light shimmered on the ocean and lit the blooming colors of fall along the shore. She loved this time of year in Maine. If only she had more time to enjoy it.

She wandered to the other end of the porch and checked the cove where her boat swayed gently in the water beside the wooden dock. Sunlight glimmered on the foam of the waves as the water rolled onto the sandy beach that stretched beyond the inlet. The guesthouse on the bluff overlooking the beach stood empty, a reminder that tourist season was coming to a close.

Taking the last sip of her hot chocolate, she headed inside. Time to get this day started.

As though reading her thoughts, Samson, the black Labrador Retriever lying on the deck, wagged his tail.

“Come on, you.”

Expecting the dog to comply, she went inside and put her mug in the kitchen sink. She glanced toward the hallway leading to her office but chose not to think about the work piled on her desk.

On days like today, she wished she could simply live off her land as her ancestors once had, but in truth, she knew she needed the mental stimulation her day job provided. Creating financial analyses for an online investing site might not be as interesting as managing a multibillion-dollar mutual fund or overseeing the finances of military security forces overseas, but it was something.

She had done both of the other jobs during the ten years she had lived away from her home state of Maine, but a bad breakup, an overbearing boss, and the death of her grandfather had ultimately pushed her to change her life drastically and settle here on Heritage Island, the private island that had been in her family for two centuries. The hundred twenty acres that spanned the area behind her house were still largely untouched. Nearly a hundred acres were virgin forest, with another twenty of apple trees. Blueberry and cranberry bushes flanked the orchard on one side and ensured that she had an ample supply of fruit to last her the year and still have plenty to sell or share.

Her stomach knotted at the thought that her life here could be coming to an end. She shook her head, pushing away the possibility and the stress that always came with it. “Enjoy today,” she said to herself.

She walked onto her front porch, her gaze drawn to where two deer grazed on the lawn. They lifted their heads and studied her for a brief moment as though sizing up a potential threat.

“Just stay out of my flowerbed,” Kristi warned. The past two summers, she had planted dozens of flowers, and so far, none of them had survived the deer’s appetites.

Clearly not concerned with her presence, they both lowered their heads and continued to nibble the grass. When Samson raced down the stairs, though, the deer reconsidered the location of their morning meal and bounded across the yard and into the trees.

“Come on, boy.” She nodded at her dog as she picked up a bucket off the porch, then started toward the ducks’ nesting area. “Let’s go find some eggs for breakfast.”

* * *

“I’m tired of waiting.” Dusty hands slammed down on the polished cherry desk.

One eyebrow lifted. “Another couple months and this will all be over.”

“Another couple months that we can’t start construction,” he countered. “If we wait until the court date in November, it will be too late to get the materials onto the island. We’ll lose an entire season.”

“My hands are tied. What do you suggest I do?”

“Seems to me that if Kristi Hartinger decided to drop the lawsuit, things would go much more smoothly.”

“You’ve already offered to buy her out at three times the assessed value.” The annoyance that money hadn’t solved the problem surfaced. “She wasn’t interested. Remember?”

“I think she’s getting a little too comfortable out there by herself.” He tilted his head to one side. “If things were a bit tougher, she might reconsider.”

The implications hung in the air.

“I’ll have to see what we can do.”

“You tell me when, and I’ll be happy to lend my services.”

“Good to know.”