Page 32 of North

Rain drummed on the roof. Water coursed across the road ahead, lethal.

He sat there, hands tight on the wheel, thinking about Mariposa, his words to York. How Selah had looked at him after he’d killed that man. Except Selah could never get over thinking of him as a kid…so yeah, that’s what her reaction had been about.

She’d left him because of what he’d done. Not what he’d said.

And there weren’t any right words to fix that, were there.

But what was he going to do? Leave her to Martin’s plan?

North pushed the driver’s-side door open. Rain plastered his shirt to his back as he waded through knee-deep runoff to assess the damage. The Sonic’s back wheels hung suspended over the ditch, the front ground into the mud.

One push and the entire thing would tumble over into the runoff, probably float all the way back to Cashmere.

Perfect.

Lightning split the sky again. Thunder answered. And North stood in rising water on a Washington backroad, sixty miles from anywhere, wondering when he’d learn to let go.

Probably never.

He started walking.

* * *

Twenty or so years ago…

He shouldn’t be this excited to meet a woman whose heart he’d have to break.

Alexander Steele tucked his hands into his wool coat pockets and leaned against the cast-iron lamppost outside Café Gerbeaud, watching morning crowds hurry across Vörösmarty Square. October winds whipped yellow leaves across centuries-old cobblestones, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and approaching rain. The ornate facade of the café rose behind him, its marble columns and gilded trim a reminder of Budapest’s imperial glory days.

Third Hungarian lesson. Third time seeing her. Third morning his pulse quickened at the sight of dark hair flowing past slim shoulders.

Timea Kovács wove through the morning crowd, her leather jacket caught by the wind. She clutched a worn paperback to her chest, head bent against the growing breeze. When she spotted him, her smile transformed her entire face.

“You’re early.” She reached him, slightly breathless. A strand of her dark-brown hair caught on her lip, and she brushed it away with fingers that trembled slightly from the cold.

“Eager student.” The lie rolled off his tongue. He pulled open the heavy brass-handled door. “After you.”

Inside, the redolence of coffee and cinnamon wrapped around them. Crystal chandeliers caught the gray morning light filtering through tall windows. At the counter, white-aproned servers arranged pastries beneath glass cases that had survived since the Habsburg Empire.

Timea led him to a small marble-topped table in the corner. “I brought something.” She settled into her chair and held up the paperback. “Le Carré. Have you read it?”

“The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.” Interesting. “Required reading where I went to school.”

“Really? For business school?” She tilted her head, blue eyes bright with curiosity.

“International relations component.” He waved over a server, switching to careful Hungarian. “Két kávét, kérem.”

“Better.” Timea’s lips curved up. “But you’re still hitting the r too hard, like you’re talking Russian. I know it’s hard to remember, but in Hungarian, make it softer, like you’re afraid of it.”

“Like I’m afraid of it?”

“Everything in Hungarian should sound like you’re telling a secret.” She demonstrated, her voice dropping. The words flowed like water.

The server arrived with their coffee in gold-rimmed cups. Alexander ordered plum dumplings, pleased when he got through the phrase without stumbling.

“Now, about Leamas.” Timea opened the book, her fingers tracing a passage. “Don’t you find it fascinating? The way he has to pretend to be something he’s not?”

“Fascinating.” Alexander sipped his coffee, bitter and strong. “You enjoy spy novels?”