Chapter 10
TEN
“I don’t know how you do this for days. I’ve been sitting here for four hours, and already I’m so tired I could curl into a ball for a week.” Selah sat in the den, the best vantage point in the house, staring through North’s night-vis goggles for movement.
They sat in darkness on a couple of overstuffed chairs, a window open, the cool air of the mountain pastures stirring into the room.
“It’s the adrenaline. It spiked when we started, and it’s falling as we wait,” North said quietly. He held a hunting rifle with a scope.
In the main-floor master bedroom that faced the back of the house, Ford and Scarlett had the same setup, although Scarlett had the added bonus of the visual feed from the four cameras attached to the house and barn.
Apparently, the Marshall family had done this before, years ago, when Tate and Glo held a marriage ceremony in the backyard.
Glo’s mother, then VP-hopeful Reba Jackson, had been the target.
Reuben had told Selah the story as he checked their supply of guns—all .308 Winchester bolt-action hunting rifles. He’d stacked them on the table, assigned ammunition to each.
“My mom got shot. Nearly died,” Reuben had said. “Gilly had to fly her to Helena. It was…scary.”
“Gilly is your wife?” She’d counted out twenty rounds per weapon.
“Yeah. She and I worked with the Jude County Smokejumpers. She was our jump pilot.”
“Did you get the guy who shot your mom?”
“Yep.” He’d picked up a walkie and handed it to her. “This is for you. North and Ford have them too.” He’d also handed her one of the rifles. “This is for North. I’ll arm Ford and RJ, and she and I will be upstairs with Hardwin.”
The gun had been heavier than she expected. She’d slipped the walkie onto her waistband.
He’d paused before he turned away. “Selah. I’ve been in some pretty bad places.
A plane crash, nearly burned to death in a fire, my mom’s near-death.
I’ve learned that I can plan and worry, but in the end, God always shows up.
And He always has a plan. A much bigger plan than ours.
” He’d clamped a big hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
She’d tucked his words into her heart, wanting to believe him.
Now, sitting in the darkness with North, well, it seemed she’d walked into an action movie, and the ending felt iffy.
“Is this what it’s always like?”
North glanced at her. The moonlight outlined his strong jaw, and she could feel his gaze on her, the strength of it finding her bones.
“Yep. Days of waiting, of your muscles tight, your gut coiled…hungry, thirsty, stiff…”
“And then?”
“And then you see the girl you love emerge from under a tamarind tree, alive, and you realize that you’ll stop at nothing to save her. Even if you’re eaten by fire ants.”
She smiled. Reached for his hand and found it. “That happened?”
“Everything but the fire ants.”
Oh, she loved him. Except: “What happens after this, North?”
He let go of her hand. “What do you…um…”
“I want to marry you.”
A beat. Oh no—
“That’s my line there, Miss Hold Your Horses.”
She laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah. I should have asked you a year ago, but…” He drew in a breath.
Another beat.
“But?”
“But I guess maybe Frank was right. I couldn’t seem to get past the fact that I had to keep things from you. And I didn’t like that.”
He leaned toward her then, his face illuminated by the moonlight.
“I was thinking, maybe…maybe I quit the team. Maybe I find something different. I still can’t tell you everything that…
Well, some things are classified. And then there’s the travel.
And…” His mouth tightened. “I don’t want to keep anything from you.
But I also don’t want you to know what…what happens.
So maybe I take that out of the equation. ”
She had stilled at his words. “Quit Jones, Inc.? For me?”
“For us. Maybe I don’t have to be the guy who saves the world.”
“Who says?”
His eyes narrowed. “I just want you to live in peace, Selah.”
She touched his face. “And you think leaving your job as a protector will help me have peace?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Listen. I get that you’re black and white. That you’re either in or out. But I think there’s a different answer. And it’s not to live in the gray, either.”
“Yeah?”
“You aren’t the only one whose father was a believer. My dad worked with inner-city kids, and about a year after Hannah went missing, he got us all together and sat us down and told us that God loved us. That we would be okay. That we would go on, even without Hannah.”
North frowned, and she nodded. “We needed to hear it. I mean, we were all Christians, so we knew Jesus had saved us, and that if Hannah wasn’t alive, then she was with Him, but we were all still really grieving.
Especially my mother. My dad looked right at her and said we only live in peace, in wholeness, if we believe without a doubt that God loves us.
And that His love is perfect even when our life feels terrifying and broken. ”
She glanced outside, into the darkness, then reached for his hand.
“I think I forgot that a little after Nigeria. And especially in Mariposa. But the last few days have reminded me that nowhere do I go that God hasn’t already gone before, that He hasn’t already prepared.
That He hasn’t already raised up help and hope.
” She squeezed his hand. “And fear is just me forgetting that.”
She leaned forward. “North. The world needs you to be a hero. And it needs me to support you. Pray for you. Love you.” Her voice fell. “And oh, do I love you.”
He made a little sound, a grunt maybe, or perhaps a growl, but he leaned forward then, grabbed the front of her shirt, tugged her close, and kissed her, sure and soft. And after a second, he wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her into him, deepening his kiss.
And she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, held on, and kissed him back. He was danger and safety, the night and the light, and right here, she belonged.
Always.
He leaned back and touched his forehead to hers. “I love you too. And if a girl could just give a guy a moment to blink, he could ask her to marry him.”
“A girl could do that.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I’m going to get something to eat. I hope Gerri has some cinnamon rolls left.”
“Bring me one,” he said, and squeezed her hand as she got up.
She headed to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed, and the cinnamon rolls sat under plastic wrap on a plate on the counter. She started to undo the wrap, peeling it back when North came out of the den.
“Ford spotted movement. It looks like the bull got out of its pen. We’re going to check on it.”
Ford appeared from down the hallway, stalked past North to the front door.
“The bull got out?” Selah said.
North opened the door. “Just stay put, okay?” He stood at the door, waiting for her reply.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
He met her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
“You’d better,” she said.
Then he slipped out behind Ford.
She stared at the cinnamon rolls. Still hungry. And maybe she could use some milk too. She opened the refrigerator, found the chocolate-milk carton, and turned to set it on the granite.
A hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream.
“I’m not here for you, Selah. I’m not even here for RJ. I need that canister.”
James stood in the wan light, dressed all in black, including a stocking cap, black face paint, and tactical gear.
In fact, she barely recognized him. But she knew that voice—that same flat Midwestern accent, a sort of calmness about him…yes, the same man from the dining car, the hospital, the farmhouse, the B&B.
So, not James, but Alan Martin.
She jerked at his hand, but he’d turned her against him, closing the refrigerator door to shut out the light, then pulling her back through the kitchen.
Yes, violence was upon her. And here she was without any defense skills. North! But he was outside with the bull…
Clearly a distraction.
And then, outside, shots sounded. Oh no—had Alan brought friends?
Maybe. Probably.
He backed her out of the house and into the darkness of the yard, all the way to the firepit.
More shots from the front yard. Please, God, don’t let anyone die.
He released the hold on her mouth. “You scream and I promise you I’ll shoot the first person out that door.” He leveled a handgun at the back door.
Yeah, that would probably be North.
Then he lowered his voice and leaned into her ear. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He made a sound very much like disbelief, but then lifted her walkie.
He keyed the mic. “RJ. You should know that I have York. And if you ever want to see him again, you need to bring me that canister.”
Selah could only imagine what panic his voice had ignited.
“Hello, Alan.” RJ’s voice, ever calm. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then believe this.” He held the walkie in front of Selah’s mouth. “Tell her what I’m doing.” He pressed the gun to the back of her head.
The feel of the barrel sent ice down her legs into her knees, and they nearly buckled.
You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. The verse from the B&B.
Alan keyed the mic.
Lord, protect us. “Alan Martin has a gun to my head.”
Static.
“Send her friend out with the canister. We have some unfinished business.”
No, no—
Alan pulled her back, away from the firepit, to behind the picnic table, then pushed her to the ground. She sat, watching the house.
Please, North, don’t—don’t—
And yet, a minute later, he appeared. Walking out of the back of the house, hands up, holding the canister.
She felt like she might retch, right there into the grass.
Selah, what have you done?
I trust You, God.
North walked halfway out into the lawn.
“Get on your knees,” Alan said.
Oh, no, no—