Tears stung her eyes. She reached forward and touched Brady's shoulder. "Thank you." She turned to Nate. "And thank you. I can never thank you enough. You didn't ask for any of this."

"Neither did you," Nate said. "We have to play the hand we're dealt."

"You don't have to play it, though. You could walk away."

He shook his head. "You think I'd do that?"

"No. I know you wouldn't. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate your help."

She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. "I don't know what we're going to do."

"All we have to know is the next step."

"And what's that?"

He nodded toward Brady in the front seat. "We start with my friends."

* * *

MARISA YAWNED AS BRADY turned onto a narrow side road. She caught a glimpse of a lake between cabins and tall trees. One day, forever ago, Nate had told Marisa about the lake in his hometown. She never thought she'd see it. On this late afternoon in March, the oaks and maples were still bare of leaves, but the pines stood tall and colorful against the pale blue sky and reflected in the sparking water. The light dripped between the branches, reflected off the white birch bark, and was soaked into the trunks of oaks and maples and pines, nearly sucked dry before it reached the leafy bracken on the ground.

Her fingers itched for her paints. "It's amazing."

"I've been all over the world," Nate said, peering out the window on her side of the truck, "and I've never found anyplace as beautiful as this. You ever been to New Hampshire before?"

Marisa shook her head. "Upstate New York a few times."

Brady turned into the driveway of a little one-story wood-sided cabin and parked beside a blue truck. "Sam's not here yet, but I have the key."

"Isn't that your old truck?" Nate asked.

"Thought you'd need some wheels." They climbed out. Marisa stretched, tired of sitting, and joined the men at the back of Brady's pickup.

"And you didn't tell my father we were coming," Nate asked.

"No sense involving your folks. Only Sam and Rae know."

Marisa looked at Brady. "Rae is your wife, right?"

"Right. And Johnny is our son."

"Aren't you worried about getting your wife involved?" Marisa asked.

"I'm always worried about her," Brady said. "But if you knew Reagan, you'd know it's never a good idea to try to keep something from her." He opened the tailgate, reached in for Marisa's duffel, and gripped Leslie's suitcase.

Nate grabbed his own while Brady led the way up the steps to the cabin. "Anyway," Brady continued, "Reagan finds out everybody's secrets. And I'd hate to think what she'd do to me if she discovered Nate needed our help and I hadn't told her." He shuddered, and Marisa smiled.

"If you say so. But I'd rather keep your family as far from my troubles as possible."