74. Luke
LUKE
Four weeks in the Caribbean, and Harper still reaches for my hand every chance she gets. Not that I’m complaining.
The limo Reyes arranged to drive us home from the private airstrip winds up the long drive to Blackthorn, dust curling behind us as the late-afternoon sun paints everything gold.
The ranch house gleams against the Montana sky, all fresh timber and stone, the new windows catching the light like they were built to hold it. It looks stronger somehow, like it survived the fire and came back greater. A lot like the people who live here.
“It looks so nice,” Emma says with a gasp. “I can’t believe it’s all put together again.”
Jake slides his arm around her, his hand automatically settling over the small swell of her stomach.
I see Mason reach for Lily’s hand. I smile, and Harper squeezes mine.
Home.
Then I spot the black SUV parked in front of the main house, slightly away from all our other vehicles. Not just any SUV—a matte-black Escalade with windows dark enough to hide state secrets.
The same kind Gabriel Reyes drove away in the night he took Cole Turner.
I straighten.
Harper follows my gaze. “Luke?”
“Anybody expecting company?” Mason asks.
“That looks like Reyes’s SUV,” Jake says.
“He’s not here, is he?” Emma cranes her neck, searching the yard.
Our driver pulls to a stop beside it. He climbs out and opens my door, holding a small envelope out. “Mr. Bennett, Mr. Reyes asked me to give you this when you arrived.”
I take it, exchanging a look with Harper before opening it.
Inside is a single key fob and a handwritten note.
Figured you’d appreciate
the upgrade.
- Gabe
I bark out a laugh and pass the note to Jake and Mason.
Jake shakes his head.
Mason hands the note back to me. “Organized crime has ridiculous customer service.”
Harper rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
I glance from the key in my hand to the Escalade. “You’re telling me all I had to do to get a ride like this was help dismantle a trafficking ring?”
Emma snorts as Harper elbows me in the ribs.
The sound of everyone’s laughter drifts across the yard, warm and easy. Normal, for the first time in a long time.
I slide an arm around Harper’s shoulders and look up at the house. At our family. At everything we fought for.
Home isn’t a place. It’s the people waiting for you when you get back.
And for the first time in my life, I have both.