Matt Hilton: Slash and burn

'I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here?'

Leaning against the railing so that the sun was on my back, I ran a hand over my unkempt hair. 'Wasn't expecting visitors.'

Her eyes crinkled. She took in my beach house with a sweep of her arm. 'It's beautiful here. But lonely, I guess. Do you live out here all alone?'

'Only the last few days. That's why I'm surprised you found me.'

I was surprised. There were only two people who knew I had moved into the house, and neither of them was the type to give up my location without a fight. My buddy and business partner, Jared 'Rink' Rington, and Harvey Lucas, another friend out in Little Rock, Arkansas.

'You didn't get the voicemail messages Jared sent you?'

I thought about the mobile phone lying somewhere inside the house. I'd slung it aside my first night in my new home. I'd come here for some R and R: why would I want to be disturbed by phone calls? The battery would probably be dead by now.

'Rink sent you?' It was unlike him. Normally he would have paved the way first. But then I looked at Kate and decided that Rink would see what I saw. Not a threat; just a person in need of help.

'He's tied up with a case at the moment, but he said that you would be able to help. I've got a problem, Joe. But I knew who to come to. I remembered Jake talking about his friends from his unit. He said that he would trust you all with his life. Even when he died, it was his friends who brought him home. It's why I looked up Jared instead of going to the police.'

'And Rink sent you to find me, huh?'

'Said that he was a little busy, but you'd do as second best.'

I shook my head at that.

'What else did Rink tell you about me?'

'Nothing. I already knew from Jake that you were good at your job.'

'Jake told you what we did?'

'Not in as many words. But I'm not stupid. I was only thirteen years old when he died, but even I guessed that he was more than just an average soldier. I knew that you were all part of some extra-special unit. It's because I know about your background that I came looking for you.'

'If you're looking for a mercenary, you've come to the wrong place,' I told her. 'I'm retired. Four and a half years.'

'Jared said you would help.'

'Depends what it is you want.'

'I want you to find my sister.'

'She's missing? You should have gone to the cops first.'

'My sister may be dead.' Kate bounced the bottle of beer in her palm.

Frowning, I put down my own bottle, turning away from her. 'Don't see how I can help you, then. I'm sorry.'

'But then again, she might not be.'

I turned around to look at her again, and she was staring up at me with her chin set with determination. She looked more and more like her brother – particularly when he grew pig-headed with stubbornness.

'I need someone to find out which it is,' she said. 'If Imogen is dead, then I have to know. The alternative is that she's being held against her will and needs help to get away.'

I owed Jake. It was his actions in saving us from the ambush that killed him. The only way I could repay his selflessness was to help his family now.

So much for rest and recuperation. I nodded at her.

'I'll get my things together. When do we start?'

'I've booked flights out of Tampa tomorrow. Can you be ready for then?'

I didn't have to look around to know that I already had everything necessary here. My SIG Sauer P228, with a half-dozen spare magazines of nine mm soft-nosed parabellums. A change of clothing. Fake air marshal documents that would get my gun past security. What more would I require?

'Where are we going?'

'Kentucky.'

Appalachia. I hadn't been there before. Mountains and valleys were just my thing. It would be picturesque this late in the year. I looked at Kate. The company wouldn't be bad either.

I asked her where she was staying and she said she'd booked a room at the Marriott. 'Unless there's somewhere else you can suggest?'

'It's handy for the airport. I'll meet you there in the morning.'

She placed the empty bottle on the deck.

'Thanks, Joe,' she said. Then she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

After Kate left, I pulled my things together. My stuff didn't amount to much; it fitted inside a single backpack. Then I went back out on the deck with another Corona, watching the sun go down over the Gulf of Mexico. It was blood-red on the horizon.

I thought about Kate's parting gesture. The kiss. I could still feel her lips on my skin. It was a nice feeling but tomorrow's calendar date was in my mind, and I brushed it away with my fingers.

The beers helped me sleep. I was up before dawn. I ran five miles along the beach, worked out, showered, shaved and dressed. Then I drove to Tampa and left my Audi A6 in a long-term parking lot. I asked for Kate at the front desk of the Marriott and she joined me for breakfast. She was still beautiful, but she didn't look like she'd slept that well; probably apprehension about the task ahead. I didn't ask too much. We could talk on the flight north.

My documents saw me through security, but a couple of questions were raised concerning a gun Kate carried. Her right to carry gave me pause for thought, but I didn't dwell on it – a number of people have special dispensation for personal defence weapons these days. It stood to reason that she'd come packing, thinking we could face danger in the days ahead. I made a mental note to have Rink check up on her background for me.

We flew into Capital City Airport, near Frankfort, where we had to take a connection flight down to a blip on the map named Little Fork. We'd been in airports or airplanes most of the day. Then it was all roads. The final leg of the journey couldn't even be called a road. A single beaten track led up from the valley, terminating in front of Imogen Ballard's house.

Imogen's house was an A-frame set on a hillside overlooking a steep valley. Behind it was a sheer rock face that probed at the nickel-coloured sky with jagged fingers. The front of the house was raised up, a wooden porch and steps necessary to gain the front door. There was no vehicle parked under the lean-to at the side of the house.

The house was lovely, and so was the scenery. Part of the Appalachian Range, it was a very mountainous region, a secluded place of beauty.

I liked the remoteness. It was the kind of place that I would feel comfortable living in. My only concern was that, for a single woman, it was very vulnerable to the wrong kind of visitors. The remoteness offered privacy and a degree of anonymity, but the location was also a bottleneck with no escape route if things became dangerous.

'Imogen lives here alone?' I asked.

'She lived here with her ex-husband, Ron, until April this year. After that she has divided her time between here and our family's home in Maine.'

Kate had already told me about the unhappy breakdown of her sister's marriage. She'd also told me that her sister had seemed to bounce back, setting up a bring-and-buy type business via the Web. It wasn't eBay, but apparently she was doing OK. She spent most of her time hosting her site, and it seemed the remainder was spent up here at Great Wells Fall, walking and hiking in the woods. Her business passion was technical, but there was nothing in the world that could compare with the natural wonders of the wilderness.

'She likes the serenity,' Kate went on, nodding at the great outdoors surrounding us.

'Can't say I blame her.'

'She's a freelance photographer. She sidelines in wildlife photographs that she supplies to magazines and to the internet.'

We were in a rental I'd picked up at Little Fork, a Ford Explorer with 4?4 capacity and gun racks behind the front seats. Hunting – I guessed – was a passion of many visitors who came to this part of the country. Parking the Ford on the turning circle outside the house, I got out. I stood with one hand on the open door, my other creeping under the tail of my shirt to check that my SIG was positioned for a quick draw.