A man gets out of the car.
As I suspected, he’s tall—at least six foot four. He’s lean, verging on skinny. His face is covered with a thick, blonde beard.
Recognition tugs at me, but it’s gone just as quickly.
His hands are empty of weapons. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one on him.
“Stop,” I call out. “Don’t come any closer. Why are you here?”
The man just looks at me.
Then he raises his hand to his head.
“Stop,” I snap. “Don’t move. Tell me why you’re here.”
He pushes a thick lock of hair back from his forehead before dropping his hand. “Alec,” he says. “I know you have a gun behind your back. Are you really going to shoot me?”
This time it’s not a flash of recognition. It’s a damn tank smashing into me.
I wasn’t looking before. Wasn’t expecting. But now?—
I see it.
The unruly hair.
The height.
The angles of his features.
The glint of amusement in his eyes.
And his voice.
Low. Rumbly. With a hint of a Maine drawl.
But it can’t be.
I stare at him in shock. “Sawyer?”
He jerks his head. “It’s me.”
“What—”
But the shock quickly shifts to anger. To betrayal. To worry.
I thought he was dead.
Everyonesaid he was dead.
But then how is he here? Why? Was the initial betrayal not enough? Is he here on the directives of the enemy?
I pull my weapon from behind my back and aim it at him. My voice is harsh as I bark, “Don’t move.”
Sawyer freezes mid-step. “Alec?” Hurt laces his voice. “What are you doing?”
“Why are you here?Howare you here?”
He blinks. Grimaces. Slowly, he raises his hands in the air. “I came to see you, Alec.”
