Page 92 of North

Finally, silence, and North looked up.

She did too.

Alan Martin had vanished.

North leaned up, and she rolled over, staring at him. “Really? Really? All these shooters and not one gets him?” She was breathing hard, her gaze in his, staring at his grim look. “What?”

“For the sake of justice, we let him go.”

She blinked at him. “You what?”

And it hit her then. Yes, she wasn’t so different from North when it came to reacting when someone evil threatened someone she loved.

Which meant they both needed forgiveness, and humility and grace.

“Tate called Ford. York’s gone dark. We don’t think Alan has him, but…we don’t know. What we do know is that the Petrov terrorists escaped with the obsidite. And the only way to figure out where is to let Alan get away and lead us to them.”

“So…”

Shouting came from the house.

“So Scarlett put a tracker on the canister. And…”

“You let him get away.”

“We let him think he escaped on his own.” He sat back on his ankles. “You okay?”

She stared at him and the truth settled in. “I am. By the grace of God, I am.” She grabbed his jacket. “And so are you.”

Then she sat up and kissed him.

And good man that he was, he kissed her back.

* * *

Of course Dakota and West had shown up for breakfast.

North stood in the kitchen of the Marshall family home, watching, not sure how to help as Gerri and Gilly and Knox’s wife, Kelsey, made pancakes and scrambled eggs while Knox grilled steaks on the patio outside, chatting with Dakota, West, and Ford, and as all the grandchildren—he counted five total—played in the yard outside.

A glorious blue sky stretched to the dark humpback mountains on the horizon and beyond, and the air smelled of the rich grasslands and cattle country.

Knox had shown up this morning and helped Reuben track down his bull—the distraction Alan had created so he could grab Selah.

North’s gut still seized at the memory of Martin’s voice on the walkie.

And Selah’s…

But she seemed okay now, sitting at the island, drinking coffee, talking with Scarlett.

Scarlett had chased Martin with the drone across the back pasture to a pickup he’d parked on a side road. She’d checked her tracking system—it worked.

So just…relax. Breathe. Selah was safe. And justice was on the way. He just had to trust…

Okay, maybe he needed some air.

He headed out the front door, away from the ruckus and over to the bull pen, watching the big bucking Brahma as it lumbered around the yard.

Last night, the animal had tried to run him down, twice. He’d had to shoot into the air to scare it away. Ford too. Now, the bull stood still, glassy eye watching him from across the field. Ready for another go, maybe.