Chapter 6

SIX

Jack was here for a wedding .

Just in case his brain had forgotten. But standing in front of the three-way mirror at Dapper Duds Rentals in his penguin suit should jolt him back to reality.

Not here for a hunt. And definitely not here for romance .

Although, his instincts argued with him on at least one point, and his heart had thoughts about the other.

A midtwenties female clerk named Shelly stood behind him, smoothing down his shoulders, his arms, pulling on the back of the jacket. “Good fit.”

“If you like sweating, strangulation, and fear.” He mumbled it, but Doyle looked at him from where he stood, next in line for the fitting for his usher role.

“Fear?”

“Have you seen the price tag on this rental?” Jack lifted his arm and took another look at the rental price.

“Since when does Mr. Reward care about money?” Doyle looked every inch the kind of guy who hobnobbed with billionaires, comfortable and dashing in his tux. He wore an easy, relaxed smile and had cut his dark hair to a perfect trim. Mom always said that Doyle and Jack could be twins, with the same hair color, the stormy blue eyes, although Doyle had a hint of hazel in his. But that was where the resemblance stopped—Doyle had the easy charm and refinement of a humanitarian philanthropist. Jack preferred to get to the point, although he did know how to ease into it, when needed.

The rest of the groomsmen—Steinbeck and a guy named Shep—were still changing.

Apparently, Conrad had kept his word and stopped by earlier on his way to Minneapolis.

“Since Aggie decided her days were numbered.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a tidy ETF gaining millions,” Stein said, coming out of the dressing room, something of a warm smile in his countenance.

And the terrible fist inside loosened even more. Maybe Jack would survive coming home. After all, he’d survived the last six hours with Harper.

More than survived.

Enjoyed.

Oh boy .

But she was smart and easy to talk to. They made a good team, and that thought jolted him. There was a reason he worked alone, and her name was Sabrina.

“You need to stop pretending you’re a hobo,” Doyle said. “I’ve seen your house in Florida. On the ocean.”

“Not on the ocean. I’m two blocks off.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine, yes—I invested the money from the book sales, but showing up in a bus puts people at ease. I’m not a slick operator—I’m just a guy trying to help. Besides, I like having my own place to stay when I’m on the road.”

Professional nice guy. Okay, maybe .

And now Harper’s words found him. “Just saying that maybe the professional nice guy deserves some grace.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want grace—he just didn’t believe it could ease the grip of his mistakes.

“Or you’re desperate,” Steinbeck said.

“Which makes them think I’ll put everything into getting the reward.”

“You’re all set,” said Shelly, and stood up. “Let’s get this jacket off you.” She pulled it off his shoulders.

“How goes it with finding Penelope?” Doyle asked.

“Not sure. We think she might have gotten an Uber ride to Minneapolis.”

Shelly put the jacket on a hanger and handed it to Jack. “Next?”

Doyle stepped up to the podium. “Minneapolis?”

Jack unbuttoned his cuffs. “Maybe shopping. Maybe to watch the Blue Ox game. Harper says she’s pretty impulsive . . .”

Stein stood at parade rest, watching them. “But you don’t believe that.”

Jack glanced at his younger brother. In a way, Stein seemed the oldest—his demeanor, his confidence. He always managed to show up when Jack didn’t, at least after . . . well, Sabrina’s death had really derailed Jack. And then the Big Fight had sealed the deal.

“I don’t know. Apparently she does this—disappears on a whim. But there’s something about the whole thing that feels . . . not right. I think we need to keep looking.”

“You just want to spend more time with Harper.” Doyle met his gaze in the mirror.

Jack stilled.

“Please. Remember, I was there, at the beginning. I saw you two during the mission trip.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars to never talk about that again.”

Doyle held up a hand. “Just saying that I haven’t seen that version of you in a long time.”

“What version is that?” Jack’s voice had turned a little dark.

“The happy, laughing, not-so-tightly-wound, less bossy version of Big Jack Kingston.”

His mouth opened.

“Ditto,” said Steinbeck, lips in a grim line. “I miss that guy.”

“That guy went missing a long time ago.” Jack turned toward the dressing room.

Ten minutes later, he sat watching Steinbeck get fitted. Stein still held his SEAL build, even after his injury and two years in the civilian world. And a tan, evidence of the last year working as a dive instructor on some remote Caribbean island.

Talk about running .

And now, of course, Harper stepped into his brain again and lingered. Maybe he had run a little—or a lot—after the debacle in Grenada. Definitely after Sabrina’s death.

Stein looked over at him as Shelly pulled off his jacket. “We need a bigger size,” she said and draped it over her arm, disappearing onto the showroom floor.

Stein grinned at Jack, gave him a thumbs-up.

“Get over yourself.”

He laughed, and Jack let the sound of it sink into him, bathe a few wounds. Stein stepped off the platform and came over to him.

“So, what on earth is Doyle talking about? You and Bee?” He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“And now I have to murder Doyle, leave his body where no one can find it. I can do that.”

Stein rolled his eyes.

“Fine. So, in my second year of law school, I came home for spring break, and Do-Gooder Doyle had arranged this mission trip to Grenada to clean up after an earthquake. I’m not sure how, but he got me to sign on, and I spent the week with a bunch of his friends. Or I thought. Harper was there—I totally didn’t remember her as Bee.” His brain, for a second, returned to the snapshot he kept tucked away. The one with her long, beautiful blonde hair in a braid down her back, her skin tan, those pale blue eyes bright, alive. The way she’d razzed him, made him forget the weight of his studies, at least for a week.

“And?” Stein looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“And she was fun. Smart. She laughed at my jokes.”

“I thought she was smarter than that.” Stein grinned.

“Oh, you’re hilarious. But yes, I . . . there were sparks. Something. And . . .” Here went nothing. Still, better for him to say it than Doyle. “I kissed her.”

Steinbeck’s grin vanished. “You didn’t.”

“It was an impulse. But to be fair, I thought she was older—at least Doyle’s age.”

“Not Boo’s best friend. Which made her too young?—”

“She wasn’t too young, technically, but she was still in high school. And Bront?’s best friend—I suddenly saw her as twelve.”

“What was it that you used to call her?”

“Pigtails.”

“Oh, that—that’s bad.”

Jack nodded. “I couldn’t end it fast enough. I ignored her the rest of the trip, and ever since.”

“Until yesterday.”

He met Stein’s eyes. “The problem is?—”

“You’ve never forgotten her.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Tried. Failed. And hated myself for that. And now . . .”

“And now she’s back, and hot and smart and definitely not in high school.” Stein shook his head. “This is what we called a major snafu?—”

Shelly returned. “Try this size.”

Stein took the jacket. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing to do. Four days until the wedding, and then I hit the road, so . . .”

“Mm-hmm.” Stein stood still as Shelly smoothed his shoulders. “This is a good fit.”

She nodded, appreciation in her gaze. Oh brother . She worked the jacket off him. “I’ll get your order ready.”

Stein stepped off the podium. “Unless you don’t hit the road.”

“Um—”

Jack’s brother held up a hand. “There’s a season for everything. Maybe Aggie’s demise is a sign. You go back, take the bar?—”

“And spend my life being strangled by the legal system?”

“Hey, you’re the one who went to law school.”

“Not sure why.” He got up.

“I know why.” Stein headed for the dressing room, stepped behind the cloth curtain, his voice rising from within. “It’s because you’re a Boy Scout, trying to change the world. Always have been. I blame Grandpa and all that time you spent with him fishing.”

“He did like to tell stories while we waited for the walleye to bite.”

“Yeah, legal-eagle, crime-fighting, evil-versus-the-good-guy stories.” Steinbeck pushed back the curtain, now in his street clothes. “It’s what made Dad run for mayor all those years ago, and after Dad retired, Grandpa turned his sights on you.”

“Oh please,” Jack said. “Don’t tell me Grandpa’s war stories are not why you went into the military.”

“No doubt. But you, big bro, had big dreams. And be honest—none of them included you sitting behind a desk. You loved arguing cases.”

“I loved a good story. And winning. And hanging out with Grandpa.” He grabbed his tux and followed Stein to the front, where Doyle was finishing up his rental order. Outside, the sun had started to wane, sending firelight into the snowbanks.

“See you at dance lessons.” Harper’s words to him as he’d dropped her off at the bridal salon lit a terrible warmth inside him.

Down, boy. Four days. Then back on the road .

“I miss Gramps,” Stein said as he handed over his credit card. “And hanging out with him in his shop, working on his boat.”

“I can still smell the barn sometimes,” Doyle said. “The diesel fuel in the air, or wood shavings from his projects.”

“He had that old transistor radio with the cloth cover.” Stein signed the receipt. “Used to listen to the local station—for fishing reports.”

“And classic rock.” Doyle hoisted his garment bag over his shoulder as Stein joined him. “Journey. Queen. Boston. I knew all the words. It’s crazy how many old bands are reused in video games today. I’m constantly hearing the classics when I’m down at the Hub.”

Jack stepped up to the desk, his credit card in his hand. “You’re still volunteering at the Duck Lake Youth Center?”

“He’s practically running the place,” Stein said.

Doyle shrugged, and Jack spotted Doyle’s own version of running in his gesture.

Jack paid for the tux, picked up the garment bag. “Thanks.” And just like that, with Doyle’s words, Harper’s story about Ty rounded back to him. “Loved his classic rock.”

Queen, playing in the snow.

A phone? He looked at Stein. “I need to swing by the Moonlight before it gets dark.”

Stein followed him outside. Jack hung his garment bag on the hook in the back seat and slid in, Stein on the passenger side.

“What are you looking for?”

“A phone. I think.”

“Penelope’s?”

“No. I think it belongs to an Uber driver—Ty Bowman. Maybe. Just a gut feeling.” He glanced at his brother. “How are things going in—where are you at?”

“I’ve been working as a dive master in St. Lucia.” He looked out the window. “But I think I might look into a tactical job. Did you know our cousin Ranger lives in Minneapolis? He’s on a private tactical team. They do SAR and security work and need contractors.”

“So, personal security?”

“Maybe. Could be defense work overseas.”

“How are the knees?”

Steinbeck ran a hand over both replacements. “Today, okay.”

“Good enough for security work?”

“We’ll see.”

The amber rays of the sinking sun bled through the skeletal maples and oaks as he pulled into the lot of the supper club. Jack parked near the edge of the pine trees, where he’d last heard the ringing. Getting out, he turned on his phone’s flashlight. Stood on the drive.

“So?”

“He’s the Uber driver, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d ditch his phone. So, let’s say that someone took it and threw it. When we looked at the footage of Penelope getting into the car, Harper thought she saw a person already inside.”

“Shared ride?”

“Maybe. Small town, so could be. But why throw out the phone?”

“You heard it ring? Where?”

He pointed to the edges of the pine-tree-lined drive. “Could be anywhere.”

“Probably not in snow,” Stein said, also shining his flashlight onto the bank. “To hear it, it would have to be on?—”

“Pavement.” The road was clear, just ice, some salt, a dark path that ran out from the supper club to the road. But over the years, ruts and cracks had formed. He walked to the edge, shone his light along the cleared area. “Sometimes, when I don’t have a speaker, I stick my phone into a glass to amplify the sound. Hard surfaces can do that.”

He focused his light on the broken edges, where the pavement had cracked, some of the spaces wider than others.

The light glinted against something and he leaned down.

The phone, black, lay on its side, wedged into a crevice. “Got it.” He pulled it out with his gloved hand. “Screen’s cracked. But it still has juice.”

Steinbeck walked over, flashed his light on the webbed screen. “You need someone who can hack it internally.”

“Nat could do it, but she’d need the phone.”

“Our cousin Ranger. He works for that security outfit I mentioned. He has a connection with a white-hat hacker, a woman named Coco Marshall. She could take a run at it. I’ll reach out to him.” He turned off the light and pulled out his phone to text.

Jack looked at the damaged screen. The picture still bled through along with a text, almost unreadable. He shone his light on it.

Mom

Where are you? Because I’m done lying for you.

Aw . Sometimes he hated it when his gut was right.

* * *

The whole thing had started to irk her.

Harper turned to allow a fellow bridesmaid, a woman named London, to unzip her gown in the dressing room at Blossom Bridal Boutique.

Penelope’s dark-blue V-necked velvet gown hung on a hanger, and sure, she’d probably slide into a perfect fit, but the woman should have been here.

“Kudos to Boo for finding dresses we can wear again,” London said. She wore her blonde hair back in a messy bun and was another one who could slide into a sample dress without adjustments. But Harper liked her. No nonsense, the kind of person you could count on. Boo said that London worked as a pilot on their SAR team in Alaska, so clearly brave and smart too.

“Although, I’m not sure where I’m going to find a place to wear a tea-length long-sleeve velvet formal in the Keys.” This from Boo’s older sister, Austen, who’d looked stunning in her dress, her auburn hair down, her skin tan. She had already climbed out of her dress, and reappeared from the dressing room wearing jeans and a sweater.

Harper headed to a dressing room.

“What do you do again?” asked London, to Austen.

“I work for a dolphin and sea lion show. I’m a trainer.”

“And she hunts for sunken treasure,” Harper said, fixing the dress on its hanger. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s a master diver.” She pulled on her jeans, her black sweater, and wished she’d worn something nicer, because next stop was the dance lesson.

With Jack.

“Find anything cool?” London asked.

Another voice answered. “She found a couple gold coins from the Atocha .”

Harper emerged from the fitting room, where Boo had come in.

“The what?” London asked.

“It’s a Spanish galleon that went down in 1622 about thirty-five miles off Key West, and”—Austen turned to her sister—“we’re not sure they were from the Atocha , although it was in the area where the stern went down. But there are other shipwrecks up and down the coast. And it’s a hobby, not a side hustle.”

Boo held up her hands, but grinned. “Someday you’ll find a lost treasure and strike it rich.”

Austen laughed. “I’m happy with my dolphins.” She pointed to Penelope’s dress. “Should we bring this with us?”

Harper had already updated them on Penelope’s whereabouts, based on her security detail’s words.

She’d left out, of course, any details about Jack.

Details about how he’d listened when she’d told him about Ty, and even filled her in on Sabrina and the truth behind his hunt. It felt, just a little, like they’d found a friendship. Or maybe just partnership. Still, when he’d dropped her off, he’d met her eyes, holding on a little when she’d said “See you at dance lessons.”

Dance lessons. The first time in his arms had roused the old crush. After today, tonight might do her in.

“I’ll take it,” Harper said. “I still can’t believe she did this.” She picked up the dress.

Boo nodded. “She probably wasn’t the best choice for a bridesmaid. I only recently got to know her. But we needed someone to walk down with Conrad, and Oaken really liked how she handled the Mike Grizz case on her podcast. She’s funny and sweet, and I don’t know—it was a bit of an impulsive ask, but . . .”

“She’ll be here,” Harper said, putting her arm around Boo’s shoulders, pulling her close. “It’ll be fine.”

“I hope she’s back for tomorrow’s spa and manicure day.” She glanced at Harper. “Thanks for looking. I hope spending the day with Jack wasn’t a total nightmare.”

“I managed. Although I’ve decided that getting him to smile might be a personal goal.”

Boo laughed and headed out of the dressing area. “He’s always been serious—comes with being the oldest, I guess. But yeah, he was a lot more fun before law school and Sabrina’s death.” She reached for her wool coat, hanging by the door.

Harper grabbed hers as well. “He told me the real story in the car.”

“Did he mention that after he finished school, he didn’t attend graduation and completely abandoned his future?” Austen said.

“Not really, but I got that gist. Feels like he blames himself.”

“They were study partners, so maybe. He’s been a bit of a loner since then. He’s a thinker and super loyal and probably spends way too much time in his head. Which is why he likes traveling, helping people that he can walk away from.”

His words bumped into her head. “I can’t let people down if they don’t depend on me.”

Boo stepped outside, holding open the door.

The setting sun had unleashed the wind, now burning against Harper’s neck. “You couldn’t have picked a destination wedding?”

“This is a destination,” Boo said, winking. “The King’s Inn is a famous wedding venue.”

“In June .” Harper shook her head. Austen cracked a smile.

“It’s warmer than Alaska,” London said and climbed into the back of the rented Escalade.

Boo stopped Harper with a hand on her arm. “Did Jack mention that he also hasn’t had a girlfriend since Sabrina?”

“He said he wasn’t dating Sabrina.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not, but the fact is, he’s a closed book. Don’t get hurt, Bee.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I’m over your big brother. Really.”

Boo narrowed her gaze. “Right.”

Harper rolled her eyes and got in. The car rumbled, started by remote, already warm.

She sort of missed the adventure of the Geo. What? No, she did not.

“By the way,” Boo said, her voice lowered, “Oaken and I talked, and he talked with Goldie, and you’re in.”

In?

Boo smiled.

Oh, in. “You’ll let me have the exclusive?”

“The article, yes. Pictures are already promised to People , but I’ll give you a couple exclusive shots.” She winked.

“Oh, Boo, thank you. I promise, I’ll write you something beautiful.”

“I know you will. I trust you.” Boo gave her hand a squeeze, then shut the door.

The words wound down into her soul. “I trust you.”

As they pulled into the parking lot of the Moonlight Supperclub, she spotted a couple cars as well as the Geo.

She tried to ignore it, along with the stupid rush of anticipation.

It was just a dance lesson, not a date.

Not anything.

She got out, followed the troupe inside, and spotted Ethan by the door, dressed in his uniform. He smiled at her, nodded, seemed to have sobered up. Or maybe he just faked well.

Inside, she checked her coat and headed to the dance floor.

The men stood in a circle, talking and laughing—well, almost all of them. Jack stood, arms folded, legs spread out, as if he might be assessing their conversation.

Or a million miles away, thinking.

Boo walked up to Oaken, who kissed her, and then the one named Shep, with his dark hair and denim shirt, pulled London close. Romance hung in the air.

Austen looped her arm through Stein’s, which left Harper to walk up to Jack.

“Hey.”

He blinked at her for a moment, then pulled a long breath, didn’t smile. She frowned.

“We need to talk,” he said, just as Julian came into the hall.

“Okay, dancers, today we’ll run through the two-step, then start working on the choreography of the Dirty Dancing crew.” He clapped his hands and arranged everyone in a circle.

“What’s going on?” she said to Jack softly as she put one hand on his shoulder, settled the other into his grip. He smelled good—she hadn’t noticed that before. And being this close to him, the sense that he’d matured in the last ten years—filled out, become solid, muscled, capable—stirred inside her.

Nope, not a twenty-four-year-old spring-break fling anymore.

“He’s been a bit of a loner since then.”

Shoot. Now she cared, thinking of him in that old bus, rumbling around the country. She absolutely would not take that as another personal challenge.

Would not .

The music started, one of Oaken’s hits, and Julian had them moving around the floor. She counted in her head, quick-quick-slow, quick-quick-slow.

“I found the source of the song,” Jack said, low, under his breath.

She’d been counting and now looked up at him, his words jolting her. She lost count, stumbled, and nearly went down.

He caught her, pulling her against his chest.

His amazing, solid, muscular chest, with the hard planes of his torso. “Gotcha.”

Her heart did a crazy, unforgiving leap.

And then she looked up at him. His blue eyes held hers, and for a second, a long delicious second it looked like . . . maybe . . .

His gaze dropped to her lips and she swallowed, wanted to nod?—

“Keep moving, over there.”

Julian .

She pushed away, righting herself.

“You okay?” Jack said, and it seemed he sighed just a little.

“Perfect.”

He’d stopped, now waited, then moved her back into rhythm. They nearly slammed into London and Shep, but Shep piloted away just in time, navigating around Jack and Harper.

“What song?” she finally said, feeling the beat again.

He blinked as if catching up, then, “‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ The one we heard earlier today.”

Oh, right .

“Now, men, it’s time to learn how to twirl her out and back in.” Julian stopped the music, then demonstrated the spin with Boo, who seemed to already know the move.

Jack tried it, spinning Harper out, close again, catching her. “You need to hold on,” he said, indicating her loose grip. “Otherwise you’ll go spinning out into space.”

Probably already was, given his piercing gaze on her, the way he’d secured her back in his grip.

He tried it again, and this time she held on. The music started, and they moved into two-step. After a few moments, he spun her out, then in, caught her, a perfect move.

Julian even called them out. “I think we have a natural couple here.”

Aw . . .

Jack’s smile dimmed.

“So, what’s the source of the song?”

“A phone.”

The music stopped and Julian called them in. “Okay, let’s work on the ensemble moves for the signature dance.”

He had brought in a flatscreen television, and now, as she stood with Jack, they watched the sequence with Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. He paused it when the men lined up behind Swayze.

“Okay, the entire wedding party will line up behind Oaken, and this is the dance we’ll learn today.” Julian pushed play, and she wondered if Jack could feel the way she held her breath, her body coiling as they watched the dance troupe from the movie follow Swayze.

She could do this.

Julian then made them line up and taught them the steps.

Step, touch, step step, wiggle, step, touch—it turned to a jumble in her head.

She’d never thought of herself as a klutz, but this felt?—

“You’ve got this.”

She looked over, and Jack glanced at her, a surety in his expression.

“I’m going to fall on my face.”

“Step kick, look back, step, hip thrust . . .” Julian at the front.

Hip what ?

She glanced over at Jack, who looked just as traumatized. Still, she attempted the moves.

Anything for Boo. Who was letting her write about her wedding.

“Repeat, and this time end with a spin,” Julian said, moving ahead, but now Shep, and maybe London, had started to laugh, and that sent Boo doubling over as she watched from the side, and then Steinbeck and Austen, and finally even Jack grinned.

Julian stopped the music.

“I think we can just improvise,” Jack said.

Julian gave him a withering look. “Let’s at least try the angel lift. Jack and Steinbeck will run over, grab Bront?’s arms, and pull her toward Oaken.” He turned to the groom. “Remember to brace your legs, one in front of the other, solid stance. Find her hip bones, press up through your core, keep it strong. And Bront?, keep your arms wide, your back arched. You’re flying. Ready?”

“Let’s do this.” Oaken walked over to his position, and Boo grinned at him, her eyes shining.

Maybe that’s what love did. Made you sparkle, gave you courage to . . . what? Run into a man’s arms, trusting he’d hold you up?

Apparently, because as Julian hit play, and as Jack and Steinbeck drew their sister onto the floor, she broke out into a run, her arms out, leaping into Oaken’s arms.

And he lifted her perfectly above his head.

“Holy smokes,” Steinbeck said. “Way to go, Boo.”

Oaken held her there, his gaze on her face, and maybe it would be nice to find someone who looked at Harper that way, as if she might be his whole world.

They twirled around, and then Oaken let her go and Boo laughed.

And only then did Harper realize she’d been holding her breath.

Julian let the music play, and maybe it contained a little magic, because Shep pulled London onto the dance floor, and Boo and Oaken started to sway.

The words sang in her head.

In the golden glow of the reception hall, under a canopy of twinkling fairy lights, Bront? and Oaken find themselves at the heart of their own love story, dancing as if the world has melted away. As the iconic opening notes of “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” fill the air, the newlyweds step onto the dance floor with an air of excitement and a hint of mischief in their eyes.

The chemistry between the couple electrifies the atmosphere, turning their performance into more than just a dance—it’s a celebration of their journey, their challenges, and their victories. Oaken, with a confident smile, guides Bront? through each step, his support unwavering as she leaps into the iconic lift. Time seems to pause, their friends and family holding their breath as Bront? soars above the dance floor, radiant with joy.

“Harper?”

Jack stood in front of her, and for a second, she thought he might be asking to pull her onto the dance floor, to wrap her in his arms, hold her close, maybe mimic some of the moves?—

“Let me show you what I found.”

Oh. Right . She nodded and followed him away from the studio, into the hallway. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a phone. “This is Ty’s phone.”

It took a second. A long second to pull herself back, to hear his words, to plug them into today’s events.

Ty’s. Phone . “Wait—what?”

“And it’s dying, but I took a shot of the text on the screen. It says?—”

She read it aloud. “‘I’m done lying for you’? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But look who sent it.”

She took the phone, studied it. “Wait. Does that say Mom ?”

“Yeah, it does. I think we need to go back for a chat with my biggest fan.”

And Harper had absolutely no power to resist following him out into the night.

* * *

“Are you trying to get me killed? Or just incarcerated for a good ten to twenty?” Emberly leaned over her computer, her earwig in, seated cross-legged on the sheets of a queen-sized bed. The other bed was made, neat and tidy and free of any critters that might decide to emerge from the corners of the bad paneling of the Duck Lake Motor Lodge.

The place made her want to bathe, over and over, but it had ended up being the only gig in town that took cash and didn’t look too closely at her ID. Not that it wasn’t a perfect forgery, thank you.

The place reeked of burnt coffee—her fault—and maybe mildew from the grimy shower curtain. She’d pasted the floor with the thin towels and asked the desk for more. It wasn’t like they had a plethora of guests—one guy, who’d gone out earlier today, his room still uncleaned given the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.

Orange carpet, brown covers on the beds, gold lamps—the place had embraced the resurgence of the midcentury modern vibe, although Emberly doubted they’d done anything but stay the course from the original motif.

Reminded her too much of the old shows she’d watched while waiting for her mother to come home from work.

So yes, the Motor Lodge lacked charm, and even warmth, the heater on the wall fighting to kick out enough breath to cut the frigid January wind.

But she couldn’t go far, not with the job still ongoing, so she’d had to stick around this one-stoplight town and regroup.

“You always say I make it too easy. You’re the one who didn’t grab the phone.” Nimue, in her ear, laughing, her voice sweet and betraying nothing of her true identity as a hunter on the dark web. Nimue could spot scammers, posers, and catfishers with a glance at her screen and knew how to creep out of their ISP into real life. Bring down the predators, terrorists, and trackers.

But once in a while, when Ember needed her, Nim poked apart security systems and helped her strategize her next move.

Because that’s what sisters did.

“I got kicked out of dinner before I could find it.”

“Good thing he’s hosting the bachelor party.”

“At least you don’t want me to go in wearing a cake.”

“Please, please do that.”

She laughed. Wow, she missed Nim.

“Listen, wear the blonde wig, add some glasses and contacts, don a suit—you’ll be part of the security. In and out of Stone’s office, phone in hand. Order a pizza on your way home.”

“Is that like saying ‘Bob’s your uncle’?”

“The guys on the team say that. It’s a thing.”

Ambient sounds through Nim’s microphone suggested she might be sitting outside, maybe in the sunshine of some tropical café, enjoying an umbrella drink.

“Where are you?”

“A place on the river. I needed to get out of the bunker. It’s seventy-five and sunny, and there are a few manatees floating around near the dock.”

“I think I hate you.”

“You could actually quit, join me down here in Florida.”

“Pick up a waitressing job?”

“No. You’re a terrible waitress. Didn’t you nearly get mowed over twice last night?”

“Yes. Same guy. Like he had me on radar.”

And for a moment, Mr. Reflexes entered her brain. Steinbeck, someone had called him. Brown hair, blond highlights, dark beard, and those eyes—oh, she’d seen those ocean-blue eyes before. Still couldn’t wrap her grip around the memory, however.

“I hope not,” Nim said. “Okay, I found the blueprints of Stone’s estate. I’m sending them to you. It’s gated, of course, and he has a handful of security personnel, so obvs, they’ll know you’re not with them. But the guests won’t, so just avoid outside security and you’ll be fine.”

Emberly pulled up the blueprint of the estate from her email. “That’s a lot of room for a single guy.” She did the quick math. Six bedrooms, seven baths, twelve thousand square feet on thirty acres. “He bought it six years ago for four mil.”

“Originally built in 1928, so it needed a lot of upgrades. But I found a few holes in his system.”

She could almost hear Nim crack her knuckles.

“First, there’s a caterer coming in tomorrow with a delivery, so that’s easy.”

“Right. Carry in some canapés, hide, don my security suit, sneak out during the party?—”

“Find his office, find his cell phone.”

“He might have it on him.”

“He might. But the house has spotty cell service, so he installed a booster in his office, along with broadband. According to the usage from his provider, he syncs his computer—and I’ll bet his phone—every night. Probably on a base charger.”

“Brilliant. So I get in, duplicate the phone.”

“Download the vault information. All you need is the passcode from his app. That and the print you lifted should get you into the hard-copy cyber vault in Montelena.”

“And order me a pizza.”

Laughter. “Please come to Florida. Think beaches and surfing and good-looking tanned men?—”

And right then, bam, she knew.

Oh no. She practically groaned, looked up at herself in the mirror, wincing.

She knew where she’d seen Mr. Reflexes before.

Please, please let him not remember.

Nim was still listing off beach perks. “And I mentioned the seafood, right? And ice cream—there’s a homemade-gelato place beachside that will make your eyes roll back into your head.”

“I mentioned that I’m freezing my tuchus off here, right? Reminds me of that double-wide we lived in for a while. In—where was that?”

“Rapid City, South Dakota. Buffalo Acres. An orange buffalo statue stared at me every night at the edge of the trailer park. I still have nightmares.” A slight chuckle, and then it died.

Oops. Maybe Emberly shouldn’t have brought that up.

“Anyway, so, don’t get caught, okay?”

“Nope. I got this.”

Her sister hung up.

As long as one former Navy SEAL didn’t suddenly remember the woman who’d left him for dead.