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and not be able to get out.”
    I stood up and started walking back. If that was the answer, I wasn’t staying here on this beach. Of course, why should I trust him or his advice? Even if he was good looking.
    He fell in step with me. I had a vague feeling I was getting picked up. Wonderful. Action while … somewhere else.
    “If you know so much, know how to get home, why don’t you go?” I asked.
    He didn’t answer, just walked next to me. I noticed he favored one of his legs.
    “Well?” I prompted. If he was going to follow me, I wanted his story.
    “Things on my end are a bit more complicated.” He rubbed the leg he limped on.
    More than an epic misunderstanding involving your oldest friend’s boyfriend and causing the car accident that placed me here? I shook my head. Don’t think of that now.
    We walked to the point where I had first seen him and his ghost friend. A path led back up to where I had come from.
    “Well, Beck, my mother always says things are as complicated as you make them. All you have to do is have a little faith, take the first step, and the rest will fall into place.” Of course, she also said turn the other cheek and friends forgive everything, enemies nothing. The likelihood of Abby forgiving me for Jason was slim to none. Not that I blamed her. I didn’t bother to tell him that. He smiled at me, his eyes almost twinkling.
    “Well, thank you for the advice.” I walked a few feet up the path and glanced back.
    He was watching me.
    “Wynter. My name is Wynter,” I added.
    He cocked an eyebrow, as I figured he might. “Spelled with a y,” I explained. “January birthday. Change of life baby. My mom was in the middle of a mid-life crisis.”
    He smiled broadly now, his eyes pinned on me. “Well Wynter with a Y, safe travels.”
    “You, too.” I kept my eyes locked on him and backed up a few feet until I was sure I’d walk into something. Finally turning, I ran the rest of the way up.
    When I looked back, he was gone.

Chapter Five

    Beck—Decision

    Interstate 95 between New York City and Newport, Rhode Island, was always crowded, no matter what time of day I traveled it. Driving home after concluding an overnight trip to the city, I zigzagged around trucks and thought about my visit. It was the first since my near death by electrocution, and it felt good to be out. New York City was always a great place to wander and get lost among the businessmen, the fashionable, the commuters, the druggies, and the freaks. I could fade into the background there, and I had been doing just that for years.
    Drew, an ex-green beret and long-time friend, had called me in desperate straits. Trying to locate a missing executive in Mexico, he needed the information I had on rebels groups and drug cartels operating throughout South America. Drew worked in the private sector while I, until my recent discharge, had slogged it out for the British government. But public or private, we shared resources whenever needed. As long as we weren’t going for the same mark or rescue it didn’t matter. Drew knew what happened in Colombia and didn’t care about the British government’s position on the fiasco. He understood firsthand the precarious situations we dealt with.
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a consultant or a mercenary but both were better than sitting at home and reliving the events of the past year. The last few months recuperating had been enough down time for me, and our finances needed a boost as well. The future was too uncertain.
    Cutting back across the traffic, I rubbed my right leg. It had suffered the most damage from the torture and electrocution; even after all this time, it still was not right.
    I called Quinn as I passed New Haven, letting him know to meet me in New London. We didn’t need two cars at the bar and being like me Quinn could run there in the same time it took me to drive. As much as I hated being different from normal people, there were times our unnatural