Page 119 of Jack

She kissed him back, just trying to keep up, it seemed, but he couldn’t get enough, pulling her closer. She tasted of her tears, and that slowed him down a little, and when she leaned away, he was breathing hard.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay.”

So now it was apparently her turn to rescue him.

He swallowed. Let her go. A fire extinguisher lay in the glow of his discarded torch. “That could have really hurt.”

“That was the point.”

He wanted to smile, but . . . “What happened?”

Her eyes widened. “Tommy!”

Tommy?“He’s been shot.”

“I know—” She scrambled up.

He caught her arm. “Let me go first.”

He put her behind him as he crawled out of the boat cover. Steinbeck ran down between the boats, holding a light. “What are you doing?”

“Just a little boat tour.” This from Harper.

Stein was breathing hard and put his hands on his knees. “I see how it is. Leave me to find the bad guys while you guys neck in the back of a boat.”

“We weren’t—” Jack started.

“’Bout time,” Stein said. “You okay, Harp?”

“Yes,” she said as Jack helped her down.

Stein stood up. “No sign of the shooter.”

“Maybe. But it’s dark. Let’s get out of here.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Jack took Harper’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They reached the gate as a cruiser turned into the housing development, the lights sweeping across the entrance. Another cruiser pulled up just outside the gate.

Jack’s grip tightened as Sheriff Davidson got out of the car. He looked at Jack, then Stein and Harper. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be at a party?”

But Jack looked at Harper. “I think I know where Penelope is.”

* * *

If she were dreaming up what-if scenarios, she might conjure exactly this one.

Harper stood, a blanket over her shoulders—her jacket thick with Tommy’s blood—as a chopper from the nearby Waconia hospital lifted off from the road. It stirred up all the debris, snow, and dirt from the worksite, and she turned away, leaning into Jack.

Who stood behind her. Who’d found her, rescued her.

Who’d kissed her like he never wanted to let her go.

She didn’t know what to do with that. Instead, she focused on his words about Penelope, and his story, the one he’d unwound for her as she’d watched Boo and Doyle and Boo’s SAR friend Shep try to stabilize Tommy, whose chest had filled with blood, his breathing down to wisps. They’d arrived still in their wedding-rehearsal attire, armed with a first-responder kit that Doyle kept in his car, of course. It wasn’t much, but it had a long bore needle and a catheter, and Harper couldn’t tear her gaze off Boo doing the initial work of saving Tommy’s life.

The EMS team on the life-flight chopper had done the rest, inserting IVs, packing his wound, strapping him onto a stretcher for transport.

She’d listened to Jack’s story, and now, as the chopper arched away, she turned to him. “You think Zorro stole the keys from Echoes and was intending to break into the boatyard and leave Penelope there?”