Page 28 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

He pocketed the phone and reached out, pulling her to himself by her belt loops.

Set her in front of him. “This very upset former sailor nearly lost pieces of himself today when I thought...” He looked away, shook his head.

Sighed. Turned back to her. “I was really hoping you meant it when you said you’d quit the Swans. ”

She pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers at the nape of his neck. “And what are you doing to do, Jason Bourne? Sell real estate?”

He huffed, but let himself smile. Then, quietly, “What am I going to do with you?” He pulled her in, his arms around her waist, and she stepped close, her hands to his face, her thumbs running along his whiskers.

“Maybe... don’t let go?” The words tumbled out, a risk, her breath catching.

But he nodded, his eyes shiny. “Nope. I’ve learned enough to hang on.”

Then he kissed her, his mouth sweet and soft and gentle. She sank into his embrace, the waves shushing against the sand, the stars blinking down. She let him deepen his kiss, moved in closer until finally he raised his head, breathing a little hard.

“We need to go to New York. So here’s the deal. We save the freakin’ world from Skynet and then... we walk off into the sunset, hand in hand.”

“And we’re back in the romance movie.” She smiled.

“It feels more like a thriller. The Terminator .”

She laughed. “Which was a romance .”

He smiled and put his hand to her face, his thumb against her cheek, caressing it. “The first time I met you, I think you said something like ‘Come with me if you want to live.’”

“Good advice.”

“Promise me. When this is over, you’ll take it. ‘Come with me if you want to live.’”

His eyes shone, and she could see all the way to his heart. Steady. Honest. Determined.

Aw, what else was she going to do? She put her forehead to his. “I promise.”

* * *

“I’m not sure how this happened.”

Steinbeck stood in front of a mirror, straightening his tie, and glanced at his cousin Colt across the shared bedroom of the penthouse accommodations that Logan had secured.

Colt wore a pair of suit pants and a white dress shirt, his jacket lying on the bed. He looked up from his phone. “Which part? The penthouse, tonight’s gala, or maybe just the fact that you showed up with a spy?”

Steinbeck cinched the tie and turned to Colt. “She’s on our side.”

“She’s a Swan. They’re not affiliated with any side.” He stood, pocketed the phone. “But if you think we can trust her...”

Steinbeck tugged on his shirtsleeves. It had been a hot minute since he’d worn any sort of monkey suit.

Probably Boo’s wedding, in truth. When he’d danced with a disguised Emberly.

The memory, now that he knew whom he’d danced with, stirred heat inside him, the sense of needing her back in his arms.

Needing? Really?

“We can trust her,” Stein said. “I’ll be right out.

” He walked to the balcony doors, opened them, and stepped out to a small balcony with an arched portico that overlooked the expansive view of the Hudson waterfront.

To the south, roughly three miles away, situated on the Hudson River, the glass of the Javits building glinted in the fading sunlight, reflecting the twilight onto the darkening water.

The sounds of the city chaos below were muted this high up, leaving just the scent of the river, the loamy autumn breeze stirring the night air.

Stein drew in the smells, lifted his gaze to the horizon, past the jutting of lower buildings, the glistening river, and even the Jersey shoreline, to beyond.

Emberly’s soft “I promise” hung inside him, along with Judah’s words: “Jesus was still calling them to believe. To trust in His power to do great things.”

He gripped the railing. I’m trusting You, Lord.

Then he exhaled and headed back into the living room.

An oversized oil painting of a New-York-in-autumn street scene with a couple walking in the rain hung over a massive marble-faced fireplace.

White bouclé sofas faced each other, and two-story gray-plaid drapes framed the expansive windows that overlooked the massive rooftop patio.

Edison bulbs lit up the stone surface and stone planters that held boxwoods and hydrangeas and fruit trees.

The doors hung open, stirring a fragrant breeze into the room.

The penthouse, from what he’d seen of it, could host a small army, or maybe just the cast of The Avengers . Which felt like an apt comparison when he walked into the room.

Steinbeck spotted Colt standing with a formally attired Director Logan Thorne, his brown hair almost military short.

He also stood with another man whom Stein had met back during his overboard adventure in the Caribbean.

Stein approached and held out a hand to the man with dark-blond hair, a little curly at the edges, the look of a warrior in his eyes—“Tate. How are you?”

“Good. I guess we’re meeting Declan at the gala.”

“He called,” Steinbeck said. “The display is set up. We’ll sneak away during the dinner and check security before tomorrow’s exhibition. Any word from London and Shep?”

“The last I heard, they were planning on bringing Luis to a new location. Not sure where,” Logan said. “They might just be off-grid at that location.”

The entire thing had Stein’s gut in a knot. “They need to be warned that Luis could be compromised. Emberly’s sister is trying to confirm any financial transactions between the Bratva and Luis.”

“Emberly?” Colt said. “You’re talking about Phoenix?”

“Yes.” Stein shoved his hands into his pockets. He probably needed to remember that they were back on the job. Even if tonight did feel like a party.

A smile crested over Colt’s face as he looked past Steinbeck’s shoulder.

Stein turned to see a woman walk in. Her long blonde hair hung in waves around her face, and she wore a floor-length, pink, shimmery halter dress, her green-blue eyes fixed on Colt.

He stepped out to meet her, holding out his hand.

“That’s Taylor Price, his girlfriend,” said Logan beside him. “She’s a biochemist. Works loosely with the Caleb Group. Goes by Tae.”

But Stein only had eyes for the woman who came in behind her.

Her long dark hair parted in the middle and was tied back in a sleek French knot.

She wore a stunning green silk dress with a draped plunging neckline and a three-strand pearl choker along with matching drop earrings.

She was petite and elegant, and he had the sense that a panther, her beautiful green eyes latched on him, was stalking up to him.

“Um.” He swallowed.

She smiled up at him. “ Um back. My, my, someone looks good in a suit. But then again, I knew that.” She winked.

Words caught in his throat until finally—“You were made for that dress.”

She laughed, but her green eyes shone. Oh, this woman wound her way deeper inside him every moment.

“I promise.”

This mission couldn’t get over fast enough. “Except, where are you going to wear your, uh... um...”

“Gun? Not bringing one. But I will have this.” She held a small white purse and now pulled out an earwig.

“You won’t need it. You’re never leaving my sight.”

She raised a dark eyebrow and inserted the earwig.

“I like the dark hair, but... why?”

“Because if Tomas is there, I don’t want him to recognize me right off.” She glanced at Logan and drew a breath. “Feels a little weird being on this side of the game.”

Stein crooked his arm. “All we have to do is mingle and then run a scan on Declan’s AI program to check for bugs. Is Nim ready?”

“I’m always ready,” said a voice in his ear.

“Let’s go. Our limo is here.”

He held out his arm, Emberly took it, and they headed out. They were going to be just fine.

They passed through the soaring entryway with the dripping gold chandelier, and Emberly turned to Logan. “I could get used to your style of safe houses. Certainly an upgrade from the Swans.”

“It doesn’t belong to us,” he said. “It’s owned by the Taggert family. Jess Taggert Brooks and her husband are heavily involved in the Red Cross and work closely with our group and others. They’ve offered their home whenever we need it.”

“They live here?”

“No. I believe this is a keen investment.” Logan opened the tall wooden door. “Pete and Jess have a modest place in Chelsea.” He stepped out into the hallway, where Tate had called the elevator.

Tate turned to Logan. “Glo really wanted to be here, but she’s been under the weather with baby number two.” He glanced at Taylor and Colt.

Clearly the man missed his wife. Steinbeck had asked Colt earlier, and apparently Glo was the daughter of the former VP-elect, who now sat in federal prison for her role in an assassination attempt on the sitting president.

President White had commuted her sentence to life, instead of execution for treason. Stein remembered the controversy from White’s first presidential election.

He hadn’t even been paying attention to White’s reelection bid.

“Tessa also wanted to join us, but our two-year-old twins are a handful right now,” said Logan. “She sends her regards.”

Huh, Steinbeck hadn’t even known that Logan was married. But maybe that’s what it took to live this life—compartments and hidden identities.

The elevator opened and they got in, took it down to the lobby, and walked out past the concierge and security to a covered entry facing the street.

The wind raked up the scents of the flowers near the entrance, as if trying to mask the clutter of the city odor—garbage, gasoline, and from a distance, even the sickly sweet odor of marijuana.

But overhead, the stars glinted their diamond light and the air hung on to the day’s heat. It would be a glorious night in Gotham.

A man stood near a stretch limo and opened the door for them.

“Thank you, Kais,” said Logan as Taylor got in, followed by Colt. Steinbeck helped Phoenix in—not that she needed it—and sat next to her.

Logan and Tate got in last.