Page 52 of North

Perfect.

“Meanwhile, you go take a shower in the guest room.” Miriam squeezed his shoulder. “Clean clothes in the dresser—Frank’s old things should fit. I’ll warm up some chili.”

He could eat.

“One hour. You’ll be good as new.”

Hardly, but he’d need that long for his phone to charge. “Okay.”

She showed him to the bedroom—a homey slice of their lives in the pictures on the walls. The en suite bathroom was small, but he didn’t care as he turned on the shower.

His reflection in the mirror had scared him—two days of stubble, dried blood crusted at his temple, hollow eyes that belonged to someone else.

Truth was, maybe he was tired of this life. Always pushing himself, needing to be the guy who got it done.

But he didn’t know any other way.

He stepped into the shower. The hot spray hit like needles against his frozen skin. North braced his hands against the tile, letting warmth seep into tired muscles.

Steam filled the bathroom.

He closed his eyes. An old Bible verse filtered into his head. When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.

Trust. Such a simple word for such a difficult thing. Except, most of the time it wasn’t difficult. Because most of the time, life was in control. Life was organized and, sure, dangerous, but he was prepared for that.

Not for the moments when his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—did crazy things.

Or witnessed him doing…brutal things.

He turned and washed his hair, scrubbed the ache and grime off himself, and then just stood, his face in the spray.

He emerged alert, renewed, and grateful for the borrowed clothes he found in the drawers. He pulled on a pair of worn jeans, a flannel shirt, thick wool socks.

He looked like a farmer. Or a logger.

Frank sat at the weathered table, nursing a cup of coffee. “Better?”

“Yes, sir.” North’s body still ached, but the bone-deep cold had eased. The flannel shirt smelled like cedar—the kind of thing a father might loan a son.

Weird, that thought. His father wasn’t the type to own a flannel shirt.

“Sit.” Miriam set a fresh mug of coffee by the empty chair, and then a bowl of thick chili piled with cheese, sour cream, and chives. “Your phone is charging.” She pointed to the phone plugged into the wall.

North sank into the chair. His head twinged, but the hot shower had helped that too. “Thank you.”

Frank considered him. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s classified.” The word came automatically.

“Son, I’ve read more classified information than you’ve had hot meals.”

North held in a laugh. “Let’s just say that we fight a different kind of war these days. The world is still a dangerous place.”

“Of course it is. The Lord hasn’t returned yet.” Frank let Miriam refill his coffee. “That’s why we need dangerous gentlemen on duty.”

“Dangerous gentlemen?”

“Men who love compassion and mercy but aren’t afraid to do the hard things to stand up for the lost and broken and scared.” He met North’s gaze.