Page 30 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

And now fighting, the grunts of a struggle.

“Hang on, Emberly!” He turned and fled back down the escalator, pushed past security, and hit the door to the rooftop garden. Enclosed inside a gate, the garden edged up to a tall glass hothouse.

“Phoenix!” He shouted into the darkness and took off for the hothouse.

There, at the far edge, he spotted her, struggling, two forms in the shadows.

He shouted, but it didn’t stop them. And then?—

No!

The man lifted her up. And?—

And tossed her over the edge.

Stein felt it in his gut, a punch that took out his breath, and he stumbled for a second. “No!”

Tomas turned, startled, then took off across the building’s edge, toward another door.

“Steinbeck, where are you?” Thorne’s voice in his ear, but he couldn’t answer.

He lunged at the edge, caught himself on the railing, and looked down.

His knees nearly buckled again.

Phoenix hung from the robotic window-washing attachment ten feet down.

Even as he watched, she swung her bare foot up to the edge and rolled onto the platform, onto her back, breathing hard.

She looked up at him. And then smiled.

“What?” He glanced away, at shouting, then back at Tomas’s retreat.

The man had disappeared.

Stein turned back to Phoenix, who now stood up and was trying to figure out the controls. The machine moved, ascending.

His entire body shook, along with his voice. He turned to Colt as he ran up. “Did you get him?”

Colt shook his head, and Phoenix breached the surface.

Steinbeck grabbed her arms, pulled her over the edge of the railing, and crushed her to himself.

“Okay, I’m okay.” She was... laughing ?

He pushed her away from himself. “Are you drugged ? You could have died!”

She stared up at him, shorter now in her bare feet. “No. I’m not drugged.” She was still grinning. Then she reached into her dress front and pulled out?—

A cell phone.

“I pulled it off him while he was trying to throw me over the edge.”

He stared at her, breathing hard. “Do you even hear yourself?”

She lowered the phone, her smile falling. “I don’t... This is what I do, Stein.”

Yes. Yes, it was.

What had he been thinking ? He turned and walked away.

“Steinbeck.”

He held up a hand to her voice.

“Stein! What’s your problem?”

He rounded then, right there in the middle of a potato field, and he didn’t care that Colt stood there—or actually had started to edge away. Steinbeck advanced one step, his entire body trembling. “You. Nearly. Died .”

“But I?—”

“Because you didn’t care. You went after Tomas on your own, not even a second to think ‘Hey, I have backup. I have someone. I have...’” He lifted his hand, then turned it into a shaking fist. “Me. You had me. And you didn’t...”

“Stein. He was right there in the lobby, and I... I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to... Did you hear me? I got his phone! ”

She’d taken another step, her hair falling out of the dark knot. The wind caught it, turned it wild around her face, the green dress shimmering in the light, matching the look in her eyes, and just like that, he knew.

Like another hit, dead center to the solar plexus.

She might want to live a different life, but even that was a lie. She lived for this—for the heist. For the danger. For the triumph.

To be a Black Swan.

And Swans worked alone, didn’t they?

While the people who loved them stood on the sidelines.

So much for promises.

Stein drew in a breath filled with the rich scent of furrowed earth and the hint of autumn and shook his head. “Good job, Phoenix. Clearly you’re the thief we all thought you were.”

Then he turned and left her on the shadowed rooftop.

Logan stood by the door. “You okay?”

“Perfect. Miss Sticky Fingers got Tomas’s phone.” Then he headed back into the gala to find Declan.

The sooner he wrapped this up, the sooner he could walk away from the ongoing trauma of knowing the woman who just couldn’t stop breaking his heart.

* * *

“How long are you and Tia in town?”

Jack glanced over at Doyle, who walked into the kitchen of the King’s Inn, wearing KEENs, cargo pants, a collared T-shirt, and the look of a man who’d spent the last month on a Caribbean island.

“Just a couple weeks,” Doyle said and walked over to his mother, who stood loading up a basket of cinnamon rolls for their newest guest: Nimue, Emberly’s sister, who’d arrived just hours earlier, needing a place to stay after a house fire.

So Stein had sent her to Minnesota?

But Jack had learned long ago not to ask too many questions, and his mother seemed thrilled to give Nimue housing in the Grover with a handful of other guests while they cleaned the inn before this weekend’s wedding.

For some stupid, unnamed reason, as he’d shown Nimue to her room, he’d suggested maybe she get a camper for long-term temporary housing. After all, nothing like a house fire to... ignite a desire to travel? Oh brother. Clearly he had Flo on his mind.

No, not Flo. Harper . And her tight smile last week after the hockey game, as if she were lost in her book again.

Or hiding something from him?

No. Everything was just fine.

“Any leftovers?” Doyle asked.

“There’s always leftovers for you.” His mother caught Doyle’s wrist when he reached for a roll and eased it away. “But not these. Over on the counter.”

The entire industrial kitchen smelled of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, a batch of oatmeal scotchies, and biscotti in anticipation of the weekend guests. His mom put a tea cloth over a basket and handed it to Jack. “Heat them up when you get there. There’s enough for everyone, a late-night treat.”

He took the basket and glanced at Doyle, who’d grabbed a cinnamon roll and set it on a napkin. His brother pressed a kiss on his mother’s cheek as he walked by.

“You keep making rolls, I’ll keep coming home.”

She laughed.

“You’re such a schmooze,” Jack said as they walked outside.

The twilight had puddled over the far horizon, purples and oranges and reds washing through the evergreen and birch that surrounded the lake.

On the beach, a fire popped and crackled, a few guests in Adirondack chairs watching the sparks wink out into the night.

Warmth hung in the air, with just the slightest nip as the night deepened, a hint of autumn in the loamy wind.

It nudged a desire to take a walk to Harper’s place, a cottage at the other end of the trail, invite her out to sit under the stars under a blanket, hopefully in his arms.

He missed her. He hadn’t seen her since last week. She’d been trying to finish her book before her mother came home to invade the place, so he hadn’t wanted to bother her.

“Tia and I are professional fundraisers,” Doyle said as he got into the passenger’s side of the King’s Inn utility vehicle. “We know how to talk to people.” He grinned at Jack. “The grounds look nice. How are the chickens? They hated me.” He took a bite of the roll.

“It’s all how you talk to them,” Jack said. “You gotta say nice things.”

“They hate you too, then.”

“Pretty much.” Jack looked over. “You look good. How are things on the island?”

“Calm. Or calm er . It’s hard to be calm in a house with thirty kids, but you know...”

“And that group of pirates?—”

“The S7 gang? Their leader was arrested, along with a few other principals, and since then, they’ve sort of disbanded. We’re still rebuilding after the landslide.”

They pulled up to the Grover and Jack got out, went inside. A few guests sat in front of a fire in the hearth. “My mother sent fresh rolls.”

He set them on the counter. A woman walked in, mid-fifties, plump, blonde hair. “Those smell amazing.”

“My mother suggested nuking them. I’ll be by in an hour or so to bank the fire. However, if you want to sit outside, there’s a campfire on the beach.”

The woman had grabbed a napkin and a plate. “I love it here. My husband and I stay every year around this time. It’s such a treasure.”

He smiled at that, the words sinking in.

He liked it here too. Maybe too much, because weirdly, the idea of getting into a bus and tooling around the country...

Aw, anywhere he went with Harper would be home.

He returned outside to the UTV, where Doyle waited. “I’ll drop you at the Norbert and then I’m headed over to Harper’s place.”

He put the vehicle in drive, started over to the magnificent Victorian, the long table he’d made still on the front porch, twinkle lights dangling above. The King’s Inn estate at night could turn positively magical.

“So, you two are going to do the long-distance thing?”

He glanced over at Doyle as they bumped over the grass. “The... what?”

“I had lunch with Conrad on my way in from the airport. He said that Harper’s got some new gig in Nashville. Editor of a magazine or something?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Really .

“Bro?”

“Yeah. I guess we’re doing the long-distance thing.”

Calm down.

He dropped Doyle off, then returned the UTV to the garage. He sat in the darkness, then grabbed the keys, hung them up on the key ring, and walked out under the stars. On shore, the fire still burned, guests now roasting s’mores.

Calm down.

He stared out at the trail between the two houses, and the ember inside just burned. What?

He was halfway to her house before he thought it again, and this time took a breath of the cool early-autumn air, rich with the fragrance of the lake, slowed his step.

It couldn’t be true.

Even before he emerged from the forest, he spotted the twinkle lights around the patio and a person sitting in an Adirondack chair, wrapped in a blanket.

Oops, not Harper, but her mother. Petite and blonde, just like Harper, except Phillipa possessed a straightforwardness about her that simply didn’t feel Minnesotan.

She looked up from the tablet in her lap and smiled. “Jack. How are you?”

He shouldn’t answer that. “Is Harper here?”

“Of course. She’s inside packing.”

Packing.

He blinked at Phillipa for a moment, and being the professional therapist that she was, maybe she read him.

She sighed. “It’s a great opportunity, Jack. And I know that you’ll both miss this place, but... things change, you know? And people need to find their own happiness.”

Jack frowned. “I thought?—”

She held up her hand. “I know. Me too. But sometimes things just happen, and you can’t predict them or change the way you feel. And Harper knows this.” She gave him a smile. “I’m sure you can understand, what with your love for adventure and the open road.”

He stared at her. Is that what Harper thought? “I don’t... I love... helping people.”

“Of course you do. And it’s so admirable. I know it’s something that Harper loves about you.” She picked up her tablet. “You two will get used to it. I know you will land on your feet. And of course, Duck Lake will always be home, right?”

Not without Harper. He looked at the house, back at Phillipa. And the urge to turn, to stalk back to the King’s Inn and...

Nope. He wasn’t that man anymore. And he loved Harper.

So yes, long-distance it was. Or maybe he’d follow her.

If she wanted him to.

His gut clenched as he walked up to the door, hesitated for a moment, and then... went in.

No Harper, but she was probably upstairs in her mother’s office, a.k.a. the guest bedroom. “Harp?”

Music drifted from above. “I’ve had the time of my life.”

Oh, she knew how to tear out his heart, didn’t she?

“Harper?” He headed toward the stairs.

She came out and looked over the railing to the open living-room area below. “Jack. What are you doing here?”

And wasn’t that a nice hello?

“I...” What was he doing here? “I... What’s going on?”

She glanced behind herself, then sighed. “I’m packing. It’s not a lot of stuff, but you know, it needs to be moved now that Mom’s selling the house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She’s selling the house?”

“Yeah. She got a job offer from this guy she met on her cruise. Back east. You know she’s always wanted to move back to New York. And apartments are so expensive there, so...” She lifted a shoulder.

He just stared at her. “So... I don’t understand. Are you leaving me, Harper?”

Her mouth opened, then closed, and she swallowed.

The gesture, her entire expression, exploded inside him. “It’s true. You got a job in Nashville.”

“I didn’t ask for it—it was Clarice. And?—”

He couldn’t move. “When did you get it?”

Her voice fell. “A week or so ago. And I don’t know why you’re so surprised?—”

Oh no. “I’m not surprised. Of course they want you. You’re talented and smart and a fantastic writer?—”

She was nodding, her eyes shiny.

“I just thought...” He sighed. “If that’s what you want, Harper, I don’t want to”—he ran a hand across his face—“stand in your way.” Wait. What was he saying ? Of course he wanted to stand in her way. But what kind of jerk would that make him?

And he should just say that, right? But then her voice softened. “Is there... any... I mean, I... why should I stay?”

Words simply left his brain. Why should she stay ? His breath stopped and cut off a reply.

“I mean, my mom is leaving and... I don’t have a home?—”

“You... sure you do. I mean... you’ve always had a home here.”

A beat. “No, I don’t. My mom is leaving, and you know, it’s an opportunity of a lifetime?—”

What her mother had said. And yes, shoot—it was.

Compared to living in a bus... aw. He couldn’t do that to her. Make her travel around with him, solving crimes, when she had this dazzling, amazing future in front of her.

He couldn’t take that from her. His throat burned. “You’re right.” He’d finally found words. “Absolutely.”

He was already backing toward the door. “And you know, Conrad’s right. I mean, who wants to live in a bus ?” A harsh laugh bubbled out of him.

She closed her mouth, her expression tightening. “Yeah. Exactly my thought. It’s a good thing you didn’t let me talk you into Power Flowers.”

He stared at her, his entire body a fist, tightening, burning, choking off his words. Be strong. For her. Let her go. “Good luck in Nashville.”

Then he turned and pushed out into the night. Not running. Simply stalking back down the path, every breath a razor until he reached the King’s Inn property.

The fire had died, the families finished with their s’mores, the chairs vacated. The remains of the fire glowed, tiny red eyes blinking. He picked up a bucket of water, walked to the lake, filled it, and returned.

He doused the fire, and the charred wood sizzled, steam billowing up, mingling with the smoke and fading into the night.

Then he sank onto the edge of an Adirondack chair, put his head into his hands.

And let himself cry.