Jethro slid the trout fillets onto open buns on a serving platter. “Just the basics. Zoey’s a medical researcher.”

He didn’t elaborate, so maybe he didn’t know. And Colt didn’t fill him in. The fewer people who knew, the better, probably.

They’d eaten dinner, the four of them. The sandwich practically melted in his mouth.

“It’s the shore lunch batter,” Jethro said. “I use it on my fries down at the tavern too.”

After dinner Jethro had asked Colt to collect wood for the fire ring outside. Colt didn’t mind. Gave him a chance to case out the surroundings as he gathered logs from the pile. He checked out the entrance to the house—a drive semisecluded by trees. Thankfully, near the lake, the brush was cleared to an expansive lawn.

Colt found Jethro constructing the fire with the supplies Colt had gathered.

“Get what you needed?” Jethro asked as he shoved an old newspaper, wadded up, under a tent of logs.

“Think so,” Colt said. “Nice place. Remote.”

“We had the brush cut back a couple years ago. Better view.” He reached for the box of matches, which Colt handed over.

The fire lit on the paper, licked the kindling. A crunch of tires on the gravel had Colt turning. Jethro got up. “That’s Raven, coming home from work.”

“Raven?”

“My daughter. She’s a singer. Had a gig at the Tav this evening.” Jethro looked beyond him and lifted a hand.

Colt spotted a woman with long black hair walk into view. Pretty. Large gold hoop earrings, a printed T-shirt of a girl band—the Yankee Belles—cowboy boots, and a guitar case slung over her shoulder.

She walked up to Jethro, leaned up, and kissed his cheek. “Hey, Dad. Pick up another stray?” But she smiled at Colt, her blue eyes warm. “Raven Darnell. Welcome to the hideout.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Colt Kingston.”

“Raven—”

She turned to her dad. “What? You know it’s true.” She slung the guitar off her shoulder. “Got any grub left?”

“Trout sandwiches. There’s a plate in the kitchen.”

“You’re my favorite chef,” she said. She glanced at Colt. “I’ll be back for your story.” Then she headed inside.

“The hideout?” Colt said after the door closed.

Jethro shook his head. “A few years ago, we had a guy stay with us who ended up being, well, sort of a spy, I think. He brought some trouble to the house and Raven’s been a little wary of our houseguests ever since, so expect the third degree.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Some Russian thug. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Colt stilled.

The door opened and laughter spilled out as Tae and Zoey came out, followed by Raven, holding a plate. Tae carried blankets, and Zoey a pan of s’more fixings.