Page 90 of North

“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.”