Page 29 of North

“Oh. Whoops, I left that part out.”

“Anything else you’re leaving out?”

“That’s a question for you, boss. York mentioned that this Martin guy and he were partners once upon a time. What gives?”

“Evidently. I don’t know the whole story, but Martin went dark—rogue—around the time that York’s first wife died. She was murdered by the Russian Bratva. Martin didn’t resurface until York had left the CIA. They’ve been at odds for years, and Martin tried to kill him a few years ago, so York probably should be on alert if Martin is running around his backyard.”

“He knows. I left him in Leavenworth. The city, not the prison.”

Ham chuckled at his pitiful joke, so the world hadn’t ended yet. “Listen. I’ll check in with York. In the meantime…do you have any leads on Selah?”

“I’m sitting outside the clinic she visited yesterday, so I’m about to give that a go.”

“Keep in touch. And North…”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Take a breath. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah. From your mouth to God’s ears.” He hung up, glanced heavenward. “I could use a little help here.”

He pushed open the car door, unfolding himself from the cramped space. His back popped. His head throbbed. The morning crew at the gas station across the street watched him stumble toward the restroom, probably wondering if he was lost or dangerous or both.

Ten minutes later, he hadn’t improved much. Still wearing yesterday’s clothes, still sporting stubble that felt like steel wool, still running on fumes and caffeine and worry.

As he got back into the car, thunder rolled. Oh, that’s not funny, Lord.

He drove to the urgent care, a small white brick building that looked more like the local library than a clinic. He opened the door to a tiny reception area.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist—Courtney, according to her name tag—gave him the kind of look usually reserved for stray dogs.

“I’m looking for someone.” Oh, his voice sounded like he needed coffee. “Woman, early thirties. Brought in two kids last night. Selah Silver.”

Courtney’s expression shifted. “Yes. They were here.”

Bam, jackpot. He drew in a breath. “Was she hurt?”

She shook her head. “She brought this nice family in for help. Took the kids with her while we life-flighted a guy and his wife to Seattle.”

Took the kids. Yes, that sounded like Selah.

“Do you know where they went?”

“I suggested the Cashmere Motor Inn.” She tapped her pen against a notepad.

“What about the man with them?”

She frowned. “She had a couple guys with her. One of them we sent to Cascade Medical.”

“The other one? Was he hurt?”

“Didn’t look like it. He seemed…capable. Handled everything.” She tilted her head. “Are you family?”

“Something like that.”

His phone buzzed again and he stepped outside. “Ham.”

“He stole a truck. Belonged to a Butch Anderson. The man was on television last night reporting the theft. Showed up dead this morning—killed outside the hospital, of all places.”