“Oh, okay. Our limo awaits, I guess.” Phoenix grabs her bag, then immediately drops it when her hands start shaking. Mason picks it up without comment, adding it to his own.
“What’s the name of this town?” Mason asks, and there’s something odd in his voice. A tension I haven’t heard from him before, which is telling considering that we just survived an emergency plane landing.
“Harmony Harbor. Charming little place, apparently. Population about eight thousand, great lobster rolls, and?—”
Mason goes completely still. The color drains from his face so fast I’m worried he might pass out.
“Harmony Harbor?” His voice comes out strangled.
“You know it?” the captain asks, brightening. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You can show everyone around. The airfield manager mentioned we should grab dinner at The Anchor. Best clam chowder in the state.”
“I—” Mason starts, then stops. His hands clench around the bag straps. “I need to make some calls. Excuse me.”
He practically flees toward the back of the plane, leaving Phoenix staring after him with concern.
“What was that about?” she asks me, like I have any insight into Mason’s psyche.
“No idea.”
But I’m curious now. Mason Aldrich, unflappable assistant extraordinaire, looking like someone just told him his worst nightmare came true? That’s interesting.
“Captain,” I say, pulling out my phone. “This Harmony Harbor. How far is it from Portland?”
“About two hours by car, depending on traffic.”
“And the nearest major airport?”
“Portland would be your best bet. Though Boston’s only about four hours south.”
Phoenix perks up slightly. “We could drive to Boston. Take a train to Montreal. Trains don’t fall out of the sky.”
“Trains also take fourteen hours to get to Montreal from Boston,” Mason says, reappearing with his composure forcibly reassembled. “And that’s if we can even get tickets at the last minute.”
“I don’t care if it takes fourteen days. No more planes.”
“Phoenix—”
“Mason, I’m serious. I will quit this entire press tour before I get on another plane.”
He sighs, that particular exhale that means he’s calculating how to manage her. “Let’s just focus on tonight. We’ll figure out tomorrow when we’re not all running on adrenaline and altitude sickness.”
“Fine.” Phoenix turns to the captain. “Where’s your mechanic friend? I want off this death trap.”
As the captain goes to arrange our ride, I sidle up to Mason. “You know something about this town you’re not saying?”
“I live in Los Angeles,” he says flatly.
“Good to know, but not quite what I asked.”
His jaw tightens. “Drop it.”
“Harmony Harbor ring any bells?”
“I said drop it.”
“Come on, Mason. We almost died. Surely that earns me one personal detail about you.”
He turns to face me fully, and for the first time since I’ve met him, there’s something genuinely threatening in his expression. “My past is none of your business. Neither is Phoenix. So whatever game you’re playing, whatever angle you’re working, leave me out of it.”
