“Home sweet home,” Randi said, pointing to a modern wood-sided house barely visible through the trees. She pulled into the gravel driveway and Smith stepped out, grabbing his duffel and pausing for a moment to admire the property. The setting sun was giving the tasteful landscaping a pleasant glow and glinting off spotless windows. It was hard to believe that, until recently, the house had been nothing but a pile of charred wood and ashes—an unfortunate consequence of an attempt on Randi’s life by a young Afghan assassin.

“Quite a change from the old cabin.”

“Fred gave me a blank check to rebuild. I think he feels guilty about putting me out for bait. I still feel that impact when I lift stuff.”

She walked to the front door and opened a hidden panel, punching a lengthy code into the keypad beneath. It was a strangely elaborate security system given the setting. Not exactly a high crime area and there wasn’t another house in sight.

The interior was even more impressive and Smith wandered through, admiring the workmanship and finally stopping to examine the custom kitchen cabinets. “Those would look good in my new place. What kind of wood is it?”

“Dunno. I flew some guys in from Norway to do them.”

“Seriously?”

“Hell yes. That body armor wasn’t as miraculous as Fred made it out to be. Did I mention that my goddamn back still hurts when I lift things? Now go put your stuff in the back bedroom. The one on the left.”

He did as instructed, nearly throwing his well-traveled duffel on the bed before realizing that the linens probably cost more than he made in a week. Best not to give Randi the company credit card after getting her shot between the shoulder blades.

Klein’s loss was their gain, though. After the Triumph episode and what had happened in Germany, this out-of-the-way cabin had seemed like a better idea than going to his place. It was the vacation home of one of Randi’s college roommates who let her crash there on the rare occasion she was in the States. Not that it would be impossible for someone to find, but at least they’d have to work harder than opening a phone book and looking under “S.”

“I thought you said the woman who owns this place is pissed at you,” he said coming back out into the living room and selecting the more comfortable looking of the two sofas. “That she blames you for starting the fire that burned the place down?”