Page 19 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

“You sure you can?—”

She took off at a run, sailed off the edge, landed on the stone balcony.

The alarm screeched, and she hustled over to the security box and punched in the code just as the sliding door opened.

Luis Sousa appeared at the door, holding a weapon, and within a second, Steinbeck had snatched it away, disarming him.

She hadn’t even seen him land behind her. Now he pushed Luis back into the room, his gun out.

“Clear.”

She followed him in, her hands up. “Luis, it’s me, Phoenix.”

The poor man had his own hands up, his eyes wide as he stared between her and Steinbeck, his breath catching. Then, “Phoenix?”

Stein lowered his gun. “You okay?”

Luis looked at him, and it took a second, but, “Steinbeck?”

“Yep, it’s me.”

Luis had been in his late twenties when they’d scooped him out of the Ukrainian embassy, had liberated him from Russian hands. A genius hacker who’d made an enemy of the Russian government by hacking into their servers and leaking troop movements during the war.

He’d put on weight in the year since she’d last seen him, filled out, and bore the appearance of someone accustomed to trouble. He put his hands down. “What are you—” He glanced at Phoenix. Then, “Are you two working together?”

Steinbeck let out a breath. “Yes.”

Luis grinned. “I knew it. Even then, I knew you two were partners?—”

“Stop,” Phoenix said. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Finally,” he said and walked over to the round table where his laptop sat. She glimpsed the photo on the lock screen a moment before he closed the lid. So Luis had found a girlfriend. Or maybe his sister?

It didn’t matter. She walked over to the kitchen and looked at the security screen, the same system she’d set up in her apartment. “Hallway looks clear.”

“I created a false trail,” Luis said, tucking his computer into his backpack. “I hacked into their system and left breadcrumbs. A plane ticket to Barcelona. Another to New York City. Hotel accommodations in Manhattan.”

“How’d you do that?” Stein asked, closing the balcony doors, locking them.

“I logged in via their smart TV.”

Phoenix stopped near the door. “How?”

“It’s connected to the Internet—they’re like a welcome mat for hackers. I’m hungry.”

“We’ll eat on the plane,” she said. Looked at Stein. “Ready?”

He nodded, got behind Luis, grabbed his backpack.

“What plane?”

“The one to Montelena.” She opened the door.

Darkness bathed the hallway, and she eased out, then nodded to Steinbeck.

He pushed Luis out right behind her as she hurried down the stairs.

Seven flights, no problem, and when she hit the bottom, she waited for them at the entrance to the alleyway that overlooked a cobblestone street leading down to the boardwalk.

She met Stein’s eyes in the semidarkness.

“He gets to the plane, no matter what.”

Stein rolled his eyes. “Now you’re annoying me .”

“Keep up.” She opened the door.

Outside, shadows darkened the narrow alleyway. Streetlights and tourists cluttered one side; the other ran up to a dead end.

She edged out and took off, quick-walking to the end. Holstered her Glock as she reached the corner.

Luis stepped up behind her.

“Any reason to think they know you’re here?”

Luis shook his head.

She peeked back out at the street. A riverboat cruise ship had let off passengers who now wandered the shops and ate at the cafés along the boardwalk.

Music filtered up from the wharf.

Their rented car waited three blocks up, parked near the bridge on Rua da Ribeira.

“Let’s take the wharf. We’ll blend into the crowd.”

Stein nodded, and she rolled out of their corridor, into the twilit night. Stein walked behind her, Luis between them. She quick-walked down the gray cobblestones toward a plaza with streetlamps and an expansive restaurant with tables topped with red umbrellas, glittering with twinkle lights.

The romance of the city sparkled on the water in multicolored lights and long dinner-style ferryboats with music lilting into the velvety night.

Couples walked hand in hand, some with dogs on leashes, others stopping to look at the wares in one of the many kiosks that lined the boardwalk.

Art, jewelry, cork purses, sardines in colored tins, scarves, and food—so much food. Her stomach growled.

She glanced over at Stein. He wore his Krakow expression, all business, scanning the area, and it struck a sense of camaraderie inside her.

No, he far from annoyed her.

Stairs to her left led to a long elevated boardwalk with more tables and chairs. It overlooked the wharf like a promenade deck. Shops below it offered more souvenirs.

A ferry’s horn bellowed from the pier ahead of them. She glanced again at Stein, whose gaze scrutinized the pier. But out of the corner of her eye?—

Someone was following them on the upper deck. She spotted him—dark jacket, bulky form.

Boris.

What—

“They’re onto us.”

Steinbeck glanced at her. “How?”

“I don’t know!”

Stein put a hand on Luis’s bag. “Where?”

“Upper deck. Could be more behind us.”

A short nod, then, “Take Luis. Get on the ferry. I’ll be right behind you.”

Her mouth tightened. Exactly what she’d said to him in Cuba. But—“Fine.” She grabbed Luis’s shoulder strap. “With me.”

Stein peeled off, headed toward one of the stores under the archway. She didn’t look at him, but she guessed he’d find a shadowed alcove, wait to see who they chose.

Probably her. And Luis?—

“I don’t know how they found me!” Luis said, and she glanced at him.

“They might have known where you were all this time. Probably, you were bait.” And it hit her then, right in the chest. They’d been waiting for her. And the voice of Tomas, the Bratva leader, ran through her head: “We’ll see.”

It had been ridiculously easy for them to escape Sintra. “Let’s go,” she said and picked up her pace, bumping into a couple tourists. “Sorry.” The ferry’s horn blew again, and she urged Luis into a run.

Screams erupted behind them, but she didn’t look back as they cut down the pier, headed for the ferry, pulled up broadside to the dock.

A man stood at the gangway.

“Tickets on board?”

He nodded, and she shoved Luis through the gated entry. Followed, and then turned.

On the boardwalk, Steinbeck had overturned a couple tables and was now grappling with a man. People shouted, backed away from the violence.

The horn blew one last time. C’mon, Stein .

The struggle turned the twinkle lights garish, the music now dying as more people screamed.

Phoenix scanned for the man’s backup.

Yes, there— Boris, running along the upper deck.

Run, Stein!

Except, the Russian Steinbeck grappled with—she wanted to guess Igor, but really, she couldn’t see his face—grabbed Stein around the neck, a sleeper hold.

Don’t—

Stein stepped back, and she knew the move—chin tuck, grab, a knee bend, and the man flew over him. Crashed into more tables and slid to the cobblestones.

“Stein!”

She couldn’t help it. And he probably couldn’t hear her, but he took off running.

So not slow. She’d been wrong about all of it.

The ferry started to pull away just as he rounded the pier, the gangway already up.

“Run!”

She left Luis, ran over to the edge of the ferry, near the pier, and held out her hand. “Jump!”

Steinbeck leaped out over the water. Slammed against the railing.

She got a hand on his shirt and reached for his belt, but he was already scrambling up, working his feet onto the side, hooking a foot into the railing.

Winding an arm around his torso, she pulled him over.

He landed right on top of her on the deck, her arms around him, holding on as he breathed hard, his back to her.

“Welcome aboard,” she said.

He rolled onto his hands and searched for Luis. Then his eyes landed back on her and he grinned.

What?

“I hope this is a dinner cruise. I’m starved.”