Robert Tucker had rented a simple, yet gorgeous, rustic cabin, surrounded by woods and nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, overlooking a beautiful lake. It was a steep ‘A’ frame chalet, built into the side of the hill. Stone columns ran across the back of the cabin, supporting the deck outside the master bedroom on the second level. Wooden stairs led from the deck to the ground. From there, a dirt path wound its way to the water’s edge.
The main level was a large, open space. The kitchen area was against the wall opposite the huge bay window facing the water. Halfway between the bay window and the kitchen area, against the wall, was a stone fireplace, complete with built-in cavities for firewood, kindling and tools. Finishing off the look was a black bearskin rug on the floor. The entire cabin was finished in knotty pine, except for the floor, which was made of a dark-stained oak.
Bare-chested and dressed in a pair of sweat pants, Tucker sat in an Adirondack-style chair on the deck outside the master bedroom. He was in his mid-forties and had a very athletic physique. His dark hair and goatee gave him the look of a younger man. He took a couple of puffs on his cigar and gazed at the lake. The sun had almost set on the other side. The surface of the lake glimmered, as the last few rays from the sun spilled across it. Tucker tipped his glass back and finished off his drink. A sultry voice called to him from the master bedroom.
“Come back inside, Robert,” said the woman. “I’m lonely.”
Tucker smiled and rose from the chair. I know what she’s lonely for. This is going to be an exhausting weekend. As Tucker walked inside the cabin and closed the sliding glass door, he had no idea he was being watched.