Page 51 of Jack

“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 hehadrun 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.