Page 42 of North

“Where were you? I’ve been trying—” She broke off, choking back a sob. “It’s Papa. He had a heart attack. He’s in critical condition.” Another sob. “Please. I need you.”

Memories of his own father’s death slammed into him. Seven missed calls on his cell while he partied on some Galveston beach. The voicemails, his mother’s broken voice.

“I’m on my way.” He was moving before the words left his mouth. “Hold on, love. I’m coming.”

He burst out of the bathroom, nearly colliding with Crowley.

“So, how’d it go—” Crowley started.

“Family emergency.” Alexander headed for the coat check. “I have to get to Budapest.”

“And York?” Crowley grabbed his arm.

He met his eyes. “He’s our man. You’ll see—he’ll say yes.” He jerked his arm from Crowley’s grip. “Trust me.”

Outside, snow fell harder. St. Basil’s had disappeared into the whiteout. Alexander’s breath frosted the air as he flagged down a taxi.

“Airport,” he said in Russian, sliding into the back seat. Through the window, the embassy’s lights turned fuzzy.

He’d started this night preparing to recruit a man to lie to his wife. Now he was racing across Moscow to comfort the woman he loved, carrying his own lies like stones in his chest.

The joke really had been on him. He’d thought he was the one who would break Timea’s heart.

Instead, she was breaking his, one heartbeat at a time.

And if he wasn’t careful, it might cost him everything.