Page 20 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

SEVEN

Stein refused to believe this was the end.

Mission accomplished, and thank you so much—you can go home, Steinbeck. He was no longer necessary.

He sat in a Learjet, across from Phoenix and the empty box of some kind of Portuguese hamburger she’d picked up on the way to the airport. And a Snickers bar, of course.

Good thing Portugal kept European late-night hours.

Luis lay across a sofa in the back, probably getting his first decent sleep since he’d escaped from the Russians two days ago. Or had he really escaped?

The entire event nagged at Steinbeck. Something...

Or maybe he could blame his grumpy mood on his aching knee. The area around his artificial joint had swollen, burning, a deep bruise forming, maybe from the dog, maybe from the leap onto the ferryboat.

Probably the all-out sprint. Because while he could run, his lack of speed and stamina had disqualified him from returning to active duty status with the teams.

Really, it had not been a bad showing for Mr. Slow and Annoying.

Still. He should have seen the guy following them from the upper deck. He was losing his touch. At least he’d caught the guy on his six.

“Stop.”

He looked over to where Emberly—no, Phoenix —sat, under a blanket, her legs stretched out onto the seat next to her. “What?”

“You’re pacing.”

“I’m sitting here.”

“In your head. I know that look.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Krakow. Trying to figure out what went south. And what to do next.”

She leaned up. “For the record, me too. I keep rounding back to the idea that they had to have been tracking us.”

“Or him.” He glanced at Luis, then back at her. “But yeah, I keep going back to Sintra. How they didn’t guard you... You just walked out.”

She nodded, sighed. “I can’t help but think they’ve been one step ahead of us the entire time.”

“Us.” He didn’t correct her.

Maybe this wasn’t over. And shoot, his chest filled with hope at that thought.

“What’s in Montelena?” he asked. “I looked. It’s a landlocked country in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s in a valley in the middle of the Dolomites. It’s about as big as Liechtenstein, with only one city—Luciella. It’s in a valley, stays green most of the year despite the snowcapped mountains. And it’s ruled by a king, a whole royal family.”

She sat back, folded her legs. She’d purchased a sweatshirt at the airport. Deep green that matched her beautiful eyes and... Stop . This kind of thinking wouldn’t help... well, him, at the very least.

She was describing Luciella. “Gorgeous old city, it was nearly destroyed twenty years ago. Meticulously rebuilt. Underneath the facade of the cobblestone streets and the Baroque and Renaissance architecture, you’ll find state-of-the-art technology. And... the world’s most secure cybervault.”

“A cybervault?”

“Montelena is the world’s bank for all things crypto.

Has its own cryptocurrency, and its own dedicated, unhackable satellite.

Countries use their system for international trading because they have impenetrable security.

They’re the Switzerland of digital currency.

And virtually anything digital that needs protecting. ”

“Now I understand why Declan parked Axiom there.”

“They also have a secure lab where Luis and Declan can create the virus.” She glanced at the hacker. “He’s brilliant. And with Declan’s help, he’ll figure it out.”

She turned back to Stein, considering him. “But that’s not what you’re worried about.”

“I just want to deliver the package.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “And go home?”

He met her eyes, held her gaze. “I?—”

The pilot came over the speaker and announced their descent into Montelena.

She looked away, and his response died.

I don’t know. I... don’t want to.

Except, there was Jack again, in his head. “Don’t pursue this woman with the hope that she’s going to give you some sort of purpose. Only God can do that.”

Stein looked out the window. Below, an azure-blue river curved through the city with jewel-crowned trees—ruby, amber, emerald—tufted along the banks.

Hugging the shoreline on either side, the city was a clutter of red-roofed apartments and whitewashed stone buildings.

A drawbridge connected the city, with an Oxford-looking university on one side, an old town on the other, and a row of stately embassies at the foot of a palace on a cliff.

On the old-town side, the buildings circled a central cathedral with tall Gothic spires.

He half expected a dragon to appear, swish its tail along the cobbled square.

They touched down. A trio of SUVs waited for them on the tarmac.

Declan had kept his promise. He stood in front of one wearing a suit jacket and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, his expression pensive, alongside another man with a military bearing and short brown hair, wearing wraparound sunglasses, also in a suit coat.

And with them, a petite woman with short dark hair, wearing black pants, a Blue Ox sweatshirt, and a computer satchel over her shoulder.

He recognized London, her blonde hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, wearing a leather jacket, black pants, and aviator glasses, but not the man next to her. He’d expected Roy, maybe, and this man was about his size, solid, with brown hair and a solemn expression on his face.

Steinbeck grabbed his backpack, disembarked, and walked over to them. He threw a glance at Luis, who had followed him down the stairs, and held out his hand. “London.”

“Steinbeck.” She turned to the man next to her. “This is my fiancé, Shep Watson.”

Interesting. He shook Shep’s hand as London hugged Phoenix.

“Emberly. Good job.” She turned to Luis with her hand outstretched. “Luis. So glad you’re safe.”

Steinbeck approached Declan and shook his hand. Declan gestured to his companion. “Logan Thorne, head of the Caleb Group.”

Right. He’d heard of him through his cousin Colt. “I heard you were on Team 5.”

“A long time ago,” Logan said. “This is Coco Marshall.” He smiled at the woman beside him.

“Your husband plays goalie for the Blue Ox,” Steinbeck said.

“With your brother Conrad.” She had a strong grip, held his gaze without flinching.

“So you’re the hacker that saved us on the high seas?”

“Glad you weren’t shark bait.” She hitched up the satchel and glanced at Luis. “Excuse me.”

Declan and Logan went with her, which left Stein standing beside Shep.

“You hungry?” Shep asked.

“What do you have in mind?”

He nodded toward the others. “We’ll need a debrief, and then my guess is that they’ll all huddle up in the bunker. Can I introduce you to a pig’s knuckle?”

“A what?”

Shep clapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and directed him to one of the SUVs. Steinbeck turned at the open door, searching for Phoenix.

In the middle of a conversation with London, she glanced at him and smiled.

Warmth exploded in his chest, a crazy wash of longing and desire. He stupidly lifted his hand to her.

She nodded and turned back to London.

He got in the car, Shep at the wheel. They pulled out of the airport onto a road toward town.

And just like that, it was over. He was dismissed.

No longer needed.

Stein leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes.

“Declan said you were his bodyguard for a while?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And Thorne mentioned a stint with the SEALs.”

He looked over at Shep. “Yep. You?”

“I’m on an SAR team in Alaska. But I was a medic with the Tenth Mountain Division before that.”

“And now?”

“Today I’m here for London.”

“Phoenix also calls her Mystique.”

They drove through the countryside outside Luciella, along the road that traced the river. The grand palace seemed even more ominous as they drew closer.

“Yeah, that’s her Swan name. She took over leadership after her handler was... injured.” His mouth tightened around the corners.

“Injured?”

“Taken by the Bratva. Interrogated.” He shook his head. “She disappeared from the hospital in Luciella and we haven’t heard from her since.”

“You think they took her?”

“No,” he said, and glanced at Stein. “I think she’s in the wind. And the only person who might know—a guy named Roy?—”

“I know Roy.”

“Then you know he’s not giving her up even if she wants to stay gone.”

“So London—Mystique—is now head of the Black Swans?”

They entered town, slowing as they drove through neighborhoods that looked very much like Old Town Krakow, with twists and turns and opulent Renaissance-, Romanesque-, and even Baroque-style buildings, most with tall windows and grand balconies with ornate balustrades, the building numbers carved into decorative plaques.

A representation of centuries of architecture all in one small footprint, although recently built.

All part of the deception to keep their cybersecurity safe, probably.

“Yes,” Shep said. “I’m not thrilled, but it’s in her blood.

She can’t let go until she finds someone else to take over.

” They drove past the square, along the row of embassies, and pulled up to a creamy-white five-story hotel that hugged the base of the mountain.

Over the door, a blue-and-gold flag adorned with a royal crest rippled in the wind, and a crest with a crown at the apex was imprinted over the ornate entrance.

“The Royal Guardhouse,” Shep said as he took a parking ticket and drove down, under the mountain. “It’s connected to the palace via an underground tunnel. They converted it after the earthquake. It has a few surprises.”

He parked in what seemed to be a cavern, half concrete, half mountain, and they got out. “The Swans lease the top floor.” Shep pushed the elevator button. “Prince Luka has a soft spot for London.”

They got on, Shep keyed in a code, and the lift rose to the penthouse suites.

They entered a small domed foyer with deep-blue carpet and a gold chandelier. “This used to be full of prison cells where they kept people waiting for execution. It survived the earthquake, as did the palace.”