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Mackenzie Bishop was looking forward to spending the summer in Lake Tahoe. Recently widowed with two young kids, a change of scenery would do them all good. But she never expected Bren Banks to be part of that scenery. Or that he would come to mean so much to her in such a short amount of time. Bren is just as surprised as she is; he’d long ago accepted that falling in love wasn’t in the cards for him. But keeping his promise to wait until she’s ready is proving increasingly difficult. And while Mackenzie tries to find the courage to trust Bren with her broken heart, Bren has to decide if he can trust her with a secret. One that could cost him everything, including her. 

Prologue

The news had been a shock to say the least, but the gossamer, cocoon-like brume that followed had been a bittersweet blessing, a double-edged sword. A seductive, insidious blanket that swaddled Mackenzie Bishop and held her tight, then cruelly and indiscriminately released her with no respect for time or place. And as that fog lifted, reality set in.

She was a widow.

She’d gotten word in the middle of the night and had initially convinced herself it was just a bad dream. So much so that she forced herself to go back to sleep so she could wake up again to prove it. But when she did Kenzie found herself trapped in a nightmare that would become her new normal. And the worst was yet to come.

Telling the kids.

Emma had rushed over, seeing the lights burning in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, knowing something was wrong. Knowing it had to be bad, so bad that Kenzie, frozen in the inertia of disbelief, hadn’t called her. Knowing it could just as easily be her standing half-dressed and shell-shocked in her kitchen, falling into Kenzie’s arms as gut-wrenching sobs consumed her.

Kenzie couldn’t think straight, let alone put a sentence together, so Emma sprung into action. She called Kenzie’s mother, less than two hours way in Palm Springs. Jay and Sheryl Scott made it to Twentynine Palms before the sun came up. And more importantly, before the kids woke up.

She went through the motions on autopilot—the service, the luncheon, the Honors Ceremony. Whenever reality tried to rear its ugly head, Kenzie traded it for denial. Matt was deployed. One of those missions where he was out of touch for weeks at a time. If something happened, she’d know.

But she did know.

A routine training exercise had taken Matt away from them forever. It was ludicrous, really. He was only two states away, not flighting on some foreign battlefield. He was coming home in time for the Spring Fling at school next weekend.

But he didn’t.

Chapter One

“I’ve got it,” Kenzie told her mother, grabbing the laundry basket filled with pool toys and shoving it into the back of her SUV.

Sheryl Scott sent her daughter a pointed look over the rim of her sunglasses. “I’m just as capable of loading the trunk of a car today as I was last week.”

“I know,” Kenzie replied, shutting the tailgate. “But there’s no sense in pushing it.” She’d heard from friends with older parents what a difference there was between your sixties and your seventies. “I don’t want you to strain your back.”

“My back is fine, same as it was before my birthday,” Sheryl maintained, tipping her head toward the storage unit. “That’s the last of it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, let’s turn in the paperwork and get over to the house. It won’t take the movers long to unload. I’ll start making up the beds in case you guys want to sleep there tonight.”

Nodding, Kenzie agreed with a hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course.”

Sheryl started to pull away, but Kenzie wasn’t ready to let go. She tightened her grip on her mother. “I mean for everything. I couldn’t have made it through the last year without you.” Technically, the last fourteen months, three weeks, four days and ten hours, Kenzie inwardly amended.

Sheryl gave her daughter one last squeeze before easing back. Tears were brimming in her whiskey-colored eyes now. “You might be forty, but you’re still my little girl. I’d give anything for there to be nothing for you to thank me for.”

Kenzie swallowed hard. Her parents had loved Matt like a son. “Me, too.”

On a sad smile, Sheryl cradled Kenzie’s face in her hands. “Everything is going to be all right. Remember there are no endings, only new beginnings. And today is another new beginning. A fresh start, a new home. Where you and the kids will make new memories to walk along side the old ones.”

Kenzie bit back the lump growing in her throat. “I know.”

“I didn’t think I could be any prouder of you than I was, but you keep raising the bar.”

That forced a smile out of Kenzie. “Prouder than you are of McGovern?” she asked, speaking of her brother.

“Absolutely. But I’ll deny it if you repeat that.”

“Why? You tell him the same thing.”

“True,” Sheryl admitted around a laugh. Then she dropped her hands to her daughter’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Kenzie replied on a sigh, taking in the empty storage unit that had held most of her worldly belongings for the past year. ”I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get a move on it. Dad can pick up the kids after school and bring them to the house. They haven’t seen their new rooms painted yet. Then he can take them out for ice cream or something while we dig in. I’m in no hurry for you to move out, but it’s probably best to get them settled over the weekend. That way they’ll have the last few weeks of school in the new house, maybe meet some kids in the neighborhood before summer break sends everyone their separate ways.”

Kenzie looked back to her mother in stunned reverence. The thought of meeting kids in the new neighborhood before school got out would never have occurred to her. “Mom, you think of everything.”

“Once a teacher, always a teacher,” Sheryl said, sliding her hands down Kenzie’s arms and giving hers a supportive squeeze before letting go.

They drove up to the rental office and relinquished the storage unit. When they arrived at the new house twenty minutes later the movers were just starting to unload. Jay Scott greeted them with a big smile and a hearty wave.

“Perfect timing. They just finished prepping the inside. I took their lunch orders—they want burgers. I’ll handle that while you guys manage things here. I’ll bring something back for us too.”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”

“Wish I could do more, but it’s not worth the lecture I’d get about my heart.” Jay sent his wife a measured look from under raised eyebrows.

“Not to mention the one you’d get from the cardiologist,” Sheryl replied cheekily.

“That too. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Text me if you think of anything you need while I’m out.”

Jay took his leave and the women went inside. While Sheryl spoke with the movers, Kenzie stood in the foyer of her new home and took stock. The house was exactly what she’d been looking for and she’d jumped on it right away. The market in Reno was hot and she’d lost two houses to higher bidders. She’d offered over asking for this listing and as luck would have it, just enough to tip the scales in her favor.

She’d loved the feel of this neighborhood right away. Lots of young families, a community pool down the street and close to shopping and restaurants but not so close that traffic was an issue. And most importantly, it was in the same school district as her parents’ neighborhood so the kids wouldn’t have to change schools again. Fate, her mother had said. But since fate had not been kind to Kenzie lately, she preferred to stick with luck. Luck, she decided with a wistful smile, had proven to be much more providential.

She’d met Matt at a wedding neither one of them were invited to. Kenzie was in San Diego visiting a college friend and her flight home had been cancelled. Unable to get out until the following night, she went back to Jory’s apartment. Jory was attending her cousin’s wedding later that day and insisted Kenzie be her plus-one. Kenzie initially resisted—she didn’t have a dress, she wouldn’t know anyone, she’d gotten up at the crack of dawn for her flight and would be fine calling it an early night. But Jory wouldn’t take no for answer. She had a closet full of dresses to lend her, Kenzie knew Jory’s family from school visits and it was an afternoon wedding with a reception immediately following. They’d be home by nine. So Kenzie, fresh out of excuses, acquiesced.

Matt, stationed at Camp Pendleton at the time, was at the wedding as the date of a friend’s girlfriend’s sister. She and her boyfriend had just broken up and she didn’t want to go to the wedding alone. Matt, off duty and at loose ends for the weekend, had no reason not to accept the invitation. To say he and his date didn’t hit it off would be a gross understatement. She’d gotten drunk and spent most of the reception crying in the bathroom. Bored, Matt struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders. He’d noticed Kenzie from across the room, but assumed she was with a date. When she showed up at the bar alone, Matt wasted no time introducing himself. They ended up talking for the rest of the night. He called her the next morning and asked her to dinner before her flight home.

Kenzie knew that night there was something different about him, about how she felt around him. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before. Their first kiss was a kiss good-bye at the airport. But the flutter in her stomach, the stirring in her chest, told her it wouldn’t be their last. And that kiss ended up being her last first kiss. She visited him two weeks later and knew the moment she was in his arms again that he was the one. He would be her husband, her children’s father, her soulmate, the love of her life. And later Matt would tell her it was the same for him. They married the following year ahead of his first overseas assignment.

They saw the world together through two overseas tours and the travel opportunities they provided. But other than those early years and a stint in North Carolina, they’d been fortunate enough to be stationed in California for the majority of their marriage, including when both kids were born. Not too far from Kenzie’s native Reno and even closer to Palm Springs where her parents spent the winter. Matt was from a multigenerational military family and had lived all over the world, but considered Southern California home. He’d lost both his parents in recent years and his younger brother, also a Marine, was stationed in Virginia. Once Kenzie had gotten her wits about her that fateful day, Mick had been her first call. She’d wanted to get to him before the grapevine did.

“Kenz, the movers need to know where you want the couches.” Sheryl’s voice drew Kenzie out of her reminiscence. “I’m assuming one against the wall and one floating between the kitchen and family room?”

Kenzie shook off the reverie. “Yeah, but they aren’t interchangeable. One is more worn than the other. I’ll be right there.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took an emboldening breath. If she could get through the last fourteen months, surely she could figure out which couch went where. And everything that came after that.

*****

Brennen Banks killed people for a living. And as is often true of things we love, he was good at it. But the best part about it, aside from the inordinate amount of money he made doing it, was that nobody knew. It was his little secret. Well, his mother knew. But she wasn’t going to tell anybody. She liked her swanky condo with the sporty two-seater parked in the garage. All courtesy of her favorite son and only child, the greatest thriller writer who never was.

Some people would deem him a sellout, but Bren considered himself an entrepreneur, a visionary, a pragmatist. Someone who knew when to fold ‘em. Someone who’d accepted that the time had come to throw in the towel and reconcile fantasy with reality. Someone who was smart enough to surrender a lifelong dream and instead live vicariously through that of someone else.

Handsomely.

Bren had loved sports growing up. It had been an outlet for his boundless energy, a channel for his unrelenting competitiveness and had served as a coping mechanism for not having a father in his life. He’d been a natural at baseball since the first time a bat was put in his hand, could snatch a football out of the air with his eyes closed and make an alley-oop look like a cakewalk. But unlike most of his teammates, his passion for reading was just as voracious as his passion to win. And from an early age, Bren had seen no reason why he couldn’t combine the two things he loved most into a career.

But he learned the hard way that does not a professional writer make. He’d held his own as the sports editor of his high school newspaper and yearbook, managing editor of his college paper and as an intern at a prestigious L.A. publication for two college summers. But as much as he loved sports and writing about them, Bren wanted to write thrillers. He’d read everything from Encyclopedia Brown to Jason Bourne to Jack Ryan. He’d seen every James Bond movie at least ten times. He’d even created a character of his own, the ideal combination of every protagonist he’d ever read about and had written a series about him and his right-hand man. A larger than life do-gooder and his loyal wingman who, against all odds, manage to leave the world a better place than they’d found it. He’d sell millions of copies, sign over his movie rights and live happily ever after writing his next novel from his yacht with his beautiful wife and two perfect children.

Or not.

Instead, Bren found himself rejected time and time again. He’d been told he had talent, ingenuity, potential. But it just wasn’t what Joe Publisher or Jane Agent was looking for right now. Not to mention the litany of challenges facing the publishing industry in recent decades. The self-publishing revolution, the onslaught of digital piracy and the contraction of traditional sales channels had left Bren teetering on the edge of a brave new world without a parachute. And deeply in debt. Those student loans weren’t going to pay themselves off.

So he’d had little choice but to take freelance work. What started as copy editing evolved into reworking storylines, creating subplots and layering characters before he knew it. And that had not gone unnoticed by the literary agency representing an aging thriller writer who shall remain nameless.

Otherwise Bren would have to do what he did best.

And since he’d been doing that for the last ten hours, Bren decided it was time for a beer. He was on track to beat the deadline for his latest project and was thinking about taking a staycation after it was done. Spring had come early to the Sierra and thanks to a record-breaking snowpack, everything from skiing to rafting to kayaking was his for the taking. It would be shoulder season until Memorial Day so the locals would have the basin to themselves. And Bren intended to take full advantage of it.

He could live anywhere in the world but chose to live here among the soaring pines and pristine waters of Lake Tahoe. He loved the seasons, the way the lake bore patient witness to them, never freezing, never warming, always stalwart and undaunted. He loved how the snowcapped peaks stood in perfect relief to the blinding blue sky in winter, the way the meadows came alive with the lushness of spring, the wall-to-wall sunshine of summer and the colorful reckoning of fall.

But his mother not so much, which is why he’d set her up in a retirement  community in Scottsdale where she could want for nothing. In his mind it was the least he could do. She’d raised him alone, rarely thinking of herself, while never ceasing to remind him that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, her life’s greatest gift. However unexpectedly that gift had been bestowed.

Bren knew little to nothing about his father and suspected that was by design. He’d had moments of childhood curiosity and confusion, followed by others of resentment and anger. His mother had always answered his questions honestly, thoughtfully and succinctly. She and his father had dated for several months during which time she’d discovered she was pregnant. He was not interested in being a father and had offered financial assistance to put the matter to rest. She, however, was interested in being a mother and in so doing ended their relationship. She’d listed father as unknown on Bren’s birth certificate and to his knowledge had never heard from him again. She’d made her peace with that and over time Bren had as well. He’d gotten the impression that his father had been older, perhaps even married with a family. His mother had been a second grade teacher and his grandmother had taken care of him until he was old enough to go to school himself.

They’d had adventures every summer, spending a few days in Tahoe, a day or two in San Francisco, sometimes driving up the coast from Sacramento to Crescent City or down to San Diego. Mom was a trooper, coordinating their trips around Giants games whenever she could, scheduling ballpark tours when she couldn’t and taking him camping in Big Sur one summer and Yosemite the next. But something about Tahoe stayed with him, became a part of his soul, wove itself into the fabric of his being. By his second visit Bren promised himself a place here someday. Where he could wake up in the morning to the sun rising from behind the rugged mountain peaks and wind down at night to the alpenglow setting the basin on fire. And that promise was second only to the one he’d made to always take care of his mother. Bren had made good on both of those promises and then some. But the one thing he hadn’t counted on was finding himself alone.

He’d always assumed he’d get married, have a family. Not to any woman in particular and without much thought to a timeline but eventually, someday.

He hadn’t given it much thought again until lately, but something about turning forty last year had brought it top of mind. Sometimes when he grabbed a beer to watch the sunset Bren wondered what it would be like to have someone to share it with. Someone to run dinner ideas by, someone to ask about their day and relay the highlights of his, someone to plan a vacation or a holiday celebration with. Maybe even someone to watch play baseball or help with homework. A partner, a family. The family he’d never had despite how hard his mother had tried to check all the boxes—mother, father, sibling. There was always something missing and that something eluded him still. He couldn’t help but wonder if it always would.

When Bren was out here on the deck he felt like he was on top of the world. And in some ways he was, nestled high in the hills among the towering conifers and leafy aspens. The evening was warm and clear and he could almost make out the tortuous paths of the ski runs on the mountainsides across the lake. The snow was melting more each day, revealing the high desert terrain and craggy switchbacks for which the Sierra Nevada is known. Soon the lake would be punctuated with boats and jet skis from sunrise to sunset, but for now it was still except for the crashing of the waves in the evening wind. Of course Bren couldn’t hear the waves from his mid-mountain elevation but their euphonious symphony played in his head at will, forever ingrained in his memory.

Bren remembered his first visit to Tahoe all those years ago like it was yesterday. They’d pulled over just past the fork in the road where the lake first comes into view, peeking through the gaps in the trees. He’d dropped his mother’s hand and ran to the water’s edge, then looked back at her. She’d nodded in silent permission and within an instant the cool water covered his shoes and spit spindrift on his ankles. The sun’s rays bounced off the sharp crests of the waves like millions of tiny diamonds glittering under a cobalt blue haze. And that was it. He was hooked.

It had taken him a couple of decades, but Bren owned his own piece of Tahoe now. Where the crimson sun burst through the charcoal dim of the mountains in the morning. Where the air carried the sweet scent of pine straw and was so fresh and crisp it snapped. Where the star-studded night sky guarded the lake and cradled the basin as he slept. Where he had the privilege to live.

Alone, Bren reminded himself and took a deep pull from the bottle. But alone or not, he had to eat. He’d scarfed down some leftover pizza around noon, all that his refrigerator had to offer. It would probably do him good to get out a little. He hadn’t been to town in a few days. He rubbed his hand under his chin. Or shaved. Or checked the mail. He could have a couple of beers and a decent meal, then hit the grocery store on his way home.

Standing, Bren took in the view one more time. The top of the sun was barely visible now, its dwindling light painting the sky in soft pinks and vibrant oranges. If he timed it right, his drive down the mountain would be alight with stars. And that, Bren decided finishing the last of his beer, made secretly killing people for a living all that much more worth it. Even if he had to do it alone.