Page 125 of Jack

“Youwere worried!” Harper pushed her away. “You vanished. Forthreedays.”

Penelope’s mascara had bled off long ago, black streaking down her face. “I know. I’m so sorry—that wasn’t the plan. And I was so worried he’d find you looking for me and . . .”

“Who’d find her?” Jack said, foam on his jacket, around his ears. He was wiping it off, shaking his arm.

She met his gaze, her pale brown eyes wide, her dark hair down, and of course the woman could look beautiful even disheveled, wearing oversized SORELs and a grimy flannel jacket that smelled like fish. “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s a big help,” he said. He took off his jacket and shook it out, the foam flying into the night. “What is it with you two and fire extinguishers?”

“Self-defense training, sophomore year, Mrs. Runyon’s class,” Penelope said and held up a fist.

Harper bumped it, unable to sort through the emotions in her chest. “Are youokay?”

“Starved. I’ve had nothing but canned sardines, saltines, and dried pork rinds for three days. I think I’ve lost ten pounds. At least I’ll probably fit into my dress.” She winked at Harper, gave a shaky smile.

What?“Penelope—what’s going on?”

Penelope looked up at Jack. Back at Harper. “We should go.” She closed the icehouse door.

“Do you need to stop at the trauma center, maybe get checked out?” Harper said.

“I’m fine. Just smelly.” She wrinkled her nose.

Jack had picked up his tire iron and now walked to his Geo. “Get in the car. I’m freezing.”

“Bossy,” said Penelope to Harper and slid into the back seat. “But I like it.”

His angry expression met Harper’s gaze over the top of the car.

She shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I do not understand women,” he said. “This suddenly feels like a publicity stunt.”

“That got a man killed? And two more seriously injured?”

His mouth tightened and he shook his head.

But then she got in, and got it. Penelope had pulled the blanket to herself. She met Harper’s gaze in the mirror, a haunted look in her eyes. Harper had seen this version of Penelope. The one who laughed off trauma, not sure how to handle it.

Okay.Harper knew how to get people to talk.Slow down. Listen.She cranked up the heat as Jack pulled out, then turned to Penelope.

“You’ve been missing for three days, Pen. And yet you seem to not be completely freaking out—what’s going on?”

Penelope tucked the blanket under her chin, her voice now soft, almost contrite. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a desperate move, coming out here. I didn’t know what else to do when . . .” She swallowed, her voice falling. “I should never have gotten into that car.”

“Ty’s car.”

She nodded.

“Whydidyou?”

“Because the man—I still don’t know his name—said that Kyle had sent him. He called himself Felix. Last name Johnson.”

“That’s the version of Smith here in Minnesota,” Jack said.

“And then, of course, he pulled a gun.”

Jack’s mouth made a grim line. He arrived at the shore and took the boat ramp out, driving along the fence of the boatyard out to the road.