Page 118 of Jack

What was one more B & E for the day? Again, he wanted to shout her name but held it in as he landed on the other side of the fence.

Bigger steps here too, and his gut clenched.

He stared out at the yard, the rows and rows of stored boats, most with canvas covers tied down tight. A marine rack held smaller speedboats, three stories high. He shone his light across it, then down the rows.

Her shoeprints led away, toward the racks, but vanished in the harder pack of the yard.Harper, where are you?

The boats loomed over him, the wind—or his heartbeat—in his ears and . . .

Please, God. Don’t let me screw this up.He shouldn’t have shoved her away, shouldn’t have made her feel small, incapable?—

Shouldn’t have let his fears push her away.

Now. Or maybe even back then . . .

“God has a plan for your life, and even you can’t screw it up.”

He shot a glance at the moon, his throat tight.I might be in over my head here.

The wind answered, gusting off the lake, lifting snow and ice and scattering across the yard, into his open coat.

And then he saw it. Down at the end, the cover flapped on a large motor yacht. Someone had untied it.

Maybe sneaked inside.

He took off, jogging on the ice.

Oh, she was smart. He ducked under the edge of the canvas, found a swim platform, and then climbed up the back edge of the boat.

The yacht shuddered when he landed on the deck. No Harper. His light scraped across the boat’s cabin door. He knelt and tugged at it.

It opened. He stepped back, about to peer inside.

A canister slammed through the gap, nearly connecting with his forehead. He jerked back and slapped it away. It rolled out across the deck.

His light clattered to the ground, and he turned back just in time to see Harper barreling out of the cabin, wielding what looked like a can of peas.

She pounced on him, her weapon held back, ready to strike. He caught her wrist on its downward swing.

“It’s me! Jack!”

She stilled, breathing hard, her eyes wide, and lowered the can.

She sat back, looked at him for a long second . . . then her face crumbled.

Aw.

He sat up, scrambled over to her, and pulled her against him. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She let him hold her, her body trembling. Hiccupping. “You’re here.” Her voice broke. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He leaned back, caught her face in his hands. Met her eyes.

And then he kissed her. A full-throttle, wow-you-had-me-scared kind of kiss that also included a hint of why-did-you—and then he stopped thinking and justkissedher.

He drank her in with all the desperation of a man who didn’t want to let her go. Not again. Not ever.